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My first lesson was a total disaster. I’ve had bad lessons, every teacher has, but this was one of the worst. It was definitely among the top three worst lessons of all time. Just writing these sentences has given me sweaty palms and an unpleasant feeling in my gut.

I had been informed first thing by the head of drama that I was needed to teach her ‘rather tricky’ year 9 group as she was away on a course. She looked at me and uttered the ominous words ‘You’re going to need your wits about you’. This is teacher code for ‘you are about to descend into the depths of hell and an hour in this group’s company will make a tour of Afghanistan seem delightful in comparison’.

Year 9 is frequently the worst year group to teach drama to, for a couple of reasons. They’re thirteen- and fourteen-yearolds, so they’re in the full unpleasant flush of adolescence. They’re awkward, moody and crippled by insecurity. The last thing they want to do is get up in front of their peers and perform. Secondly, many of them won’t be doing drama for GCSE so they have no emotional investment in the lessons. It’s the most toxic of all combinations. You can mitigate this if you have a connection with the group and you’ve been teaching them for the last three years. In that case, if you’re very lucky, you might just be able to make the lesson bearable for everyone concerned. I, of course, had never even met this class before. The odds were not in my favour.

Ahead of the lesson, I also received an email saying the venue had been changed so that it was no longer in a drama studio. The first time I would encounter these kids wasn’t even going to be on home territory. I read down the email and my heart sank even further. It was going to be held in the gym. That’s when I knew I was completely screwed.

When I entered the gym, any last vestiges of hope quickly evaporated. The door was unlocked and the kids had managed to enter before me. This is a disaster for any teacher trying to establish their authority. One way of doing this is demanding the kids line up outside the classroom in a quiet and orderly fashion. They will then enter the room, calm, ready to work, and you are far more likely to have a productive lesson with them. That option had been removed from me.

As I entered the gym and looked around, I realised that this entire experience was going to be horrific for everyone concerned. But mainly for me. The group was scattered across the room and it looked like they were enjoying an extension to their break time. They were drinking fizzy drinks, eating crisps and chasing each other round the gym. This was already shaping up to be a disaster. I inhaled a huge gulp of air deep into my lungs in an effort to create a voice that sounded calm and authoritative. It ended up coming out sounding more like an emasculated squeak.

The kids were taking out the gym equipment, including the pommel horse and the monkey bars. From appearing to be an uncooperative rabble, they seemed to be working well as a group. The apparatus was gradually and effectively being built in front of my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I realised that I would not be teaching a drama lesson. I would be attempting to stop a PE lesson and it was thirty kids against one teacher.

The worst thing was, I didn’t know who the well-behaved kids were, I didn’t understand the group dynamics, I didn’t even know their names. One thing I didn’t notice, which makes sense in hindsight, was that every young boy seemed to be swigging a giant can of Monster.

Monster is an ‘energy drink’ that you can easily buy in any newsagent or corner shop. The term ‘energy drink’ is a euphemism.

What it really means is that every can has a caffeine level equivalent to about three shots of espresso. That doesn’t sound like a lot. But imagine you gave a three-shot espresso to a fourteenyear-old boy and then asked him to behave normally. What would happen? You’re right. He would behave like a grade-A lunatic.

Now imagine ten of them on this jet fuel and the other five drinking regular fizzy drinks. You might as well go out in Hackney and try to teach drama to a group of meth heads in the park.

The apparatus was now fully built. It was tall. Very tall. The height of the gym was around 30 feet and the apparatus almost reached the ceiling. I looked up to see some of the more intrepid members of the class climbing ladders so that they could begin swinging across the monkey bars. ‘Year 9,’ I squeaked, ‘under no circumstances are you to climb the apparatus.’ I shouldn’t have bothered. It was like trying to explain to Genghis Khan and his Mongol hordes that his planned invasion of your village needs to be postponed as now is not a good time. And, in my case, the Mongol hordes were all off their tits on Monster. ‘Year 9,’ I shrieked as my voice went completely prepubescent, ‘stop that immediately.’

Before long, the kids, showing remarkable athleticism, were swinging across the monkey bars confidently and expertly. I stood below watching them, utterly aghast. My teaching career was already in the gutter and now it was rapidly descending into the sewer. The kids, on the other hand, were all having a wonderful time and probably getting a very good workout too.

However, I was meant to be teaching a lesson on theatrical mime and there was no one in the room who was doing anything connected to that particular activity. I then noticed that while the kids had put out the apparatus fairly confidently, they hadn’t included any safety equipment. Of course they hadn’t. They were fourteen years old and high on liquid crack. They all felt immortal. I’m sure if you’d mainlined that stuff into me at fourteen years old, my response would have been exactly the same. I found myself pacing up and down as I struggled to decide what to do. Do I exert my authority and demand they come down from the apparatus or do I cave in and start putting out mats so they wouldn’t hurt themselves? I put out the mats.

I was completely out of my depth and had resigned myself to the fact that my teaching career was finished and I was going to end up being a recruitment consultant like everybody I went to school with. At least I would have access to all the cheap cocaine a boy could dream of. I looked around and saw a small group of well-behaved kids sitting on the floor reading books. Naturally, they had all grabbed a mat. I couldn’t blame them. If everyone else was taking out gymnastic equipment, why not them? I went up to the geekiest kid with glasses, who looked like he still hadn’t entered puberty and was reading Harry Potter, and asked him to get the deputy head teacher immediately. Without a word, he nodded his head and ran out the door. Even he understood that things had plummeted to a point where if someone didn’t get hurt it would be a miracle. I watched him go, along with my professional life.

When the deputy head, Mr Turner, finally appeared, he went apoplectic with fury. He was a short, bespectacled man with silver hair and a rather sizeable gut straining to be released from the confines of his shirt. The moment he saw the carnage, his eyes bulged in furious incomprehension and his head went the colour of a very angry pimple. This was a man who looked to be losing his battle with blood pressure and, if anything, I was hastening his demise.

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Welcome to the UK. Europe’s answer to Venezuela where the weather’s atrocious, nothing works and everyone in power is a paedophile. Look, that’s an exaggeration. Not everyone’s a paedophile. Some of them are merely best friends with them.

And this goes right the way to the top. Take King Charles the 3rd; polo player, homopath, and best mates with Jimmy Saville - t the most notorious sex offender of them all

Now to call Jimmy a common or garden nonce is highly offensive. Jimmy, before the BBC adopted the same policy , was pro-diversity. Which means everyone was at risk. He was ahead of his time.

The best piece of content that the BBC ever released was a documentary about their former golden boy in which every BBC exec said they had no idea what was going on even though a lot of his crimes happened in their studios. The fact that those lads were able to keep a straight face whilst saying that nonsense to camera would make even Kier Starmer blush.

Jimmy became an unofficial advisor to His Majesty, counselling the then-Prince on media, PR and public engagements. Maybe he should’ve advised him on what to do with his: fat, sweatless nonce of a brother. In many ways Andrew is worse than Saville. Jimmy raised millions of pounds for spinal charities. The only thing Andrew’s ever raised is his blood pressure when he’s near a school.

And how can I mention Andrew without talking about his arrest? They nicked him on his 66th birthday. It’s moments like this that made me think BLM were correct with their “Defund the police” rhetoric. Can’t a prolific sex offender enjoy a slice of birthday cake and an aperol spritz without the police banging down his door demanding he face justice for his actions? Honestly it’s enough for me to slap ‘ACAB’ in my Twitter bio.. For the boomers watching that stand for “All Cops Are Bastards”. It was incredibly popular in 2020 with middle class people and the profoundly mentally ill.

They’ve arrested him on “suspicion of misconduct”. “Suspicion”? What do you mean by “suspicion”. Andrew even got photos taken of himself mid-nonce. Misconduct? That’s like arresting Charles Manson for being a bit “excessive”.

By the way, the only surprising thing about the Epstein Files is that Jeffrey was willing to spend time with someone as stupid as Andy. He’s so retarded he makes Prince Harry look like Jeffrey Epstein. Because whatever you think about Jeffrey, he wasn’t stupid. Prince Harry on the other hand got two A Levels and one of them was an E in art. He has the intellectual ability of a toe nail, which is unfair because toe nails at least have the capacity for growth.

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Harry is in a weird position. His uncle is Britain’s most notorious pervert and yet everyone hates his wife more because she clearly pegs him if he’s been a bad boy.

Even the man reporting on the royal family, Huw Edwards (the BBC’s most esteemed news presenter) turned out to be a nonce.

By the way, “nonce” is prison slang standing for “Not On Normal Courtyard Exercise”.That’s right - the man who was reporting on the noncing was himself a nonce.. I’m surprised he wasn’t presenting and then running to the opposite end of the studio to give his own expert analysis,

Andrew wasn’t the only one who got arrested. Peter Mandelson, former Labour minister, by the way his title whilst he was in the Blair government was “minister without portfolio”. He was called that because he left it on Epstein’s Island. Mandy was arrested because he was described as a flight risk. Personally I think he was a flight risk the moment he stepped on Epstein’s plane but that’s just me.

His political career is now finished as is Keir Starmer’s. That’s the magic of the Epstein files. It has set off a chain of events that will now bring down the Labour government. Now, if someone can please release a file saying Zack Polanski was on the Lolita Express, we’d all be incredibly grateful.

And what’s left as a result of all these people being exposed?

Well the culture’s collapsing because we have no faith in our institutions because they’re so dodgy they make the catholic church look, well, like an ancient and noble institution filled with honest and pious men with totally typical sexual predilections.

The only thing we can do is enjoy it. After all, is there anything more beautiful than watching someone who used to be in a position of authority being dragged down to your level? Well it’s not really your level; you’ve never had a well paid government job in which you get to pretend you’re morally superior to the rest of us whilst secretly hanging out with the worst people in society and being responsible for some of the most heinous crimes known to humanity. But that’s enough about Tony Blair.

Until next time!

We owe conspiracy theorists everywhere a massive apology. For years your pothead friend who did precisely nada but live in some kind of dungeon, subsisting on nothing but bong-hits , weird Reddit forums and Domino’s pizza was actually correct. Turns out, there really is a cabal of elite paedophiles, ruling over us, doing appalling things to kids whilst wielding huge amounts of power. One even more powerful than the BBC.

The release of the Epstein files has sent everyone into a frenzy, not just your conspiracy theorist mate who last took a shower in 2016. It’s been so toxic that the only celebrity who’s come out of this with his reputation enhanced is Michael Jackson. In fact if you had to pick one celebrity involved with this scandal to babysit your kids it would probably be MJ.

He has a theme park, and they wouldn’t catch knob-rot off him like they would with Bill Gates.

By the way, Bill denies these allegations. I mean of course he would. But let’s be honest here, it’s a little too specific to be made up, isn’t it? Especially the part about him getting the clap and then thinking about putting antibiotics in his wife’s drinks so she doesn’t contract it. By the way I find this behaviour absolutely disgusting. Imagine being married to your wife for over a quarter of a century and still wanting to have sex with her. What a pervert. No wonder he ended up on that island.

By the way, was it a surprise to anyone that Bill turned out to be a little bit creepy? There’s a test I like to do with people when I’m trying to work out if they’re a pervert. I call it the “for fuck’s sake just look at him test”.

If you saw Bill Gates hanging around the showers at your local leisure centre you’d have him arrested quicker than it takes Windows 11 to load, crash and then lose all your data.

Prince Andrew was also mentioned but at this point it just feels like punching down. The man is clearly the victim of several generations of inbreeding and can’t be held accountable for his actions.

He makes a pug look like Usain Bolt. Only a man as profoundly retarded as Andy would actually get his photo taken mid-nonce. At this point the only jobs available to him are: toilet attendant, twitch streamer, or Prime Minister. He still moves less offensively than Theresa May.

Talking about global leaders, Bill Clinton is mentioned in the Epstein Files 497,638 times. That’s obviously just a joke. It’s probably more than that. Hilary, your husband flies on the Lolita Express to Pedophile Six Flags 340 times and you had no idea? I never want to hear about “woman’s intuition” ever again.

Another name to be leaked from the world of politics was of course Peter Mandelson. Now for those of you who might not have heard of Peter Mandelson, congratulations. He is known as the biggest wanker in politics; an industry that has produced Boris Johnson and Alistair Campbell.

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The image of Mandelson that has gone viral is a photo of him in his y fronts being handed something by a woman. who lets that picture be taken, knows their name has been mentioned 100,000 times in the files, rubs their hands together and thinks to themselves.

“Right, time to get back into politics”.

He should be fired purely for his arrogance.

I do need to inject a note of solemnity into proceedings as there have been hundreds of victims of Jeffrey Epstein’s heinous crimes. And some of them have never got their day in court. So let’s give these people the respect they deserve and name them.

1. Jeffrey Epstein. Not that one; just the others. Twenty years ago if you were called Jeffrey Epsten that was a solid middle class name. If you were involved in a court case and you found out that the lawyer representing you had that name you’d be thrilled.

But now it’s up there with Adolf Hitler. Probably worse than Adolf, because there’s many things you can say about Adolf but he wouldn’t have been a fan of Jeffrey’s ethnicity, personality or bedroom activities. In fact I imagine he would’ve dealt with Jeffrey very sternly. Under Adolf, Jeffrey wouldn’t have been able to buy an island let alone run a paedo ring on it.

And of course we need a moment of silence for the most high profile victim in the files. David Icke. That’s right, David Icke, the famous British conspiracy theorist who went on TV and declared he was the child of the Godhead whilst being dressed in a shellsuit. Look, everyone’s got skeletons…

Anyway this man told us that we were being ruled by an elite group of paedophiles and we all laughed at him. He became a punchline and now it’s all proven to be true. So David, on behalf of the British people may I offer this sincere and heartfelt apology. All you need now is to prove you are actually the son of God (I’m not sure demigods get arthritis) and the royal family are a bunch of space lizards masquerading as human beings and you’re Nostradamus.

Just when you think the UK can’t get any worse when it comes to the issue of free speech it somehow manages a way to look even more retarded on the global stage.

The UK is so dumb that it now resembles an 18 year old man with a full beard, sleeve tattoos who’s still in kindergarten because he can’t figure out how to hold a pencil let alone write his name. We’re no longer a joke, we’ve now become an international punchline for crap comedians across the globe.

A few weeks ago Graham Linehan was arrested at Heathrow Airport by five armed police officers for three posts on X. That’s right, ARMED police officers arrested him for posts he wrote on X. Because that’s what you need when you’re arresting a beloved comedy writer.. machine guns. We all know the damage comedians can do, that’s why they need to be arrested and preferably have some kind of heart palpitation which leaves them hospitalised.

In fact I applaud the Metropolitan Police’s stance on this matter. As I walk around the decaying zombiefied husk of London, I am eternally grateful that the police focus on such important crimes as gender critical tweets rather than trivial incidents such as knife crime. By the way, London without knife crime would be like Liverpool without the Beatles. If it didn’t exist what would we talk about?

What’s the point of catching murderers and rapists when someone is saying something nasty on Twitter? I don’t care that there’s gangs of marauding teenage sociopaths on mopeds stealing phones outside my front door. I demand to go online and not have my feelings hurt. How else can I be expected to stay safe?

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We’ve been locking people up for tweets and things they say online for longer than I care to remember. In fact we sentenced a woman called Lucy Connolly to 31 months in jail for something she wrote on X during the riots last year. Now admittedly she did plead guilty to the charges, as advised by her lawyer, something she should never have done. But why was she being charged in the first place?

We even let paedophiles and rapists out of prison early because evil, heinous criminals like Lucy needed a jail cell. We can all agree the best way to keep women safe is by allowing people who molest them to wander the streets whilst you throw the real deviants, those that say things you disagree with, behind bars. We all know that Andrew Tate’s real crimes are his problematic tweets. It’s his refusal to accept that gender is a social construct that should see him thrown in jail for the rest of his days.

It could be worse. I could be Scottish. You see England is retarded but compared to the Scots: we’re Stephen Hawking with an AI implant level genius. Scotland is the home of the Edinburgh Festival, the biggest arts festival in the world. Comedians, artists and performers come from all over the world to perform at the festival. Yet Scotland has brought in hate speech laws which mean you could be arrested for things that you say on stage that a “reasonable person” would find “offensive”.

By the way, if you think that you should imprison someone for an offensive joke. You’re not reasonable. It’s like saying “Oh I’m a liberal jihadist”. “Just a chilled out, relaxed dude who loves long walks, chilling out at home and death to the infidel pig dogs who disagree with me. Pronouns Allah/ Akhbar”.

The only person who wins out of this is me because I’ve been warning about this for years. I now get to lord it over all the Left wing comedians who said “free speech is a right wing issue”. Who’s right wing now bitches? Still me according to them but now seeing Graham’s arrested they’ve changed their opinion. Of course that’s a joke. They haven’t changed their mind, they’re even more retarded than they were before and doubled down on their opinion. As has everyone else by the way.

Zach Polanski (the leader of the Green Party) agreed with Graham’s arrest. Turns out climate change doesn’t just affect the planet, it also affects your brain.

So I look forward to writing another one of these from prison. But don’t worry I will identify as a woman so I’ll be able to be surrounded by women and finally accepted by all my former comedian colleagues.

Watch the video below.

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There’s a guy I know who I used to be good friends with. We hung out together, gigged together, wrote material together, and even briefly lived together. It was one of those friendships that seemed ironclad and unbreakable.

Though I still have his number in my phone, that friendship is sadly no more. And what’s even sadder is the reason: politics. When the woke train pulled up at the station, he got aboard. Pronouns in bio, gender is a social construct, Trump is the new Hitler; the whole shebang. I, on the other hand… Well, let’s just say I missed that particular train.

I disagree with this person on a profound, almost visceral level. But I can also say - with absolute honesty - that he’s entitled to his views, and that I don’t think he’s a bad person for holding them. We’re all a mix of nature and nurture. Our different experiences and predispositions cause us to end up in different places, that’s just life. But friendships should transcend those differences, not be defined by them.

Sadly, I’m now very much in the minority for thinking this. In fact, I question whether I’m just stubbornly holding on to a completely naive, utopian ideal. Because according to this former friend and many others, my political stances do matter. Since I’m now a “right-wing grifter”, friendship is out of the question.

Politics has invaded the personal sphere, and that’s a tragedy. Because the last thing we need is yet another reason to be divided. We are already an incredibly atomised society. The old social norms that encouraged community and togetherness - family, religion, even saying hello to your neighbours - have been weakened and degraded. This is down to a number of factors, not least among them mass immigration - which, particularly in cities, has led to a more fragmented, less cohesive society. In a healthy democracy, disagreement and a plurality of views are completely normal things. But that’s not what we have in Britain today. Instead, we have factions - uncompromising, absolutist, and always at each other’s throats.

All of this has turbo-charged a massive increase in loneliness, particularly among men.1 And something we often forget is that loneliness is fatal. I’m not exaggerating - there is a wealth of evidence that loneliness and social isolation significantly increase the risk of premature death.2 On the flipside, strong and supportive relationships are among the most powerful contributors to a long, healthy life.3 When you drop friends over political differences, it might feel good in the short term. You get to feel morally superior, more enlightened, more hip. But in sacrificing a friendship, you’re hurting yourself far more than you know.

I often find myself scrolling through my contacts, seeing the names of people I no longer talk to. But as I mourn these lost connections, I have to acknowledge my own culpability. I co-founded a YouTube channel that was bound to rub some people the wrong way. Our subject matter is often political, and often provocative. And like all human beings, I’ve got things wrong. At times I’ve been crude, blunt and insensitive.

But I want to address, once and for all, this idea that I’m a ‘grifter’. That I’m purposefully trying to divide society to make a quick buck. That if Triggernometry and similar channels didn’t exist, society would be harmonious and everybody would get on.

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I’m sorry, but that is weapons-grade nonsense. Channels like ours are not creating division - they’re trying to understand it, and come to terms with it. We live in a world where information can spread and proliferate in the blink of an eye. All kinds of good and bad ideas are bouncing around the ether, and the idea that you can go on the internet and avoid seeing anything offensive or controversial is absurd. And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s this: censoring or suppressing a person or viewpoint you disagree with does nothing but make it stronger, and in some cases more dangerous.

Big Tech has tried every method to silence Andrew Tate, yet studies have indicated he’s more popular than ever.4 I recently recorded a series of street interviews with Gen-Zers (link below)5 where most of them openly expressed support and admiration for him. Similarly, the British political elite has spent a solid decade labelling anyone with concerns about immigration as “far right” and “fascist”. All that’s done is massively weaken the legitimacy of our institutions, and give the more extreme voices in this debate more credibility. There are thousands more examples scattered throughout history. Censorship is simply a losing tactic.

So, when you can’t censor or suppress an idea you don’t like, what do you do? Well, you have to contend with it. You have to engage with it. You have to be brave enough to listen, and smart enough to respond. These are all tough things to do, which is exactly why successive governments haven’t bothered.

The nature of information has changed, permanently. Gone are the days when you can simply ignore crazy ideas or de-platform undesirable people. The only way forward is to engage. And that’s what we’ll continue to do on Triggernometry. We’ll be a space where the Left, the Right and everyone in between can express their views and have them challenged, robustly and fairly. We won’t be perfect, because nothing is. But we’ll try our best, and stay committed to the most crucial principle there is: freedom of speech.

And if all that makes me a grifter, so be it.

I’ve always loved the Edinburgh Festival. I was nineteen the first time I went - having just been cast in a student production of Macbeth - and it felt like I’d stumbled into a performer’s paradise. Every nook and cranny of the city had been transformed into a stage, alive with theatrical productions, improv and stand-up comedy. It was a beautiful celebration of art and life that made me want to quit my studies and become a full-time performer. I was doing a drama degree, so it probably wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

After that first experience, I returned to the Festival many times as both an actor and a stand-up comedian. And it was around 2016 that I started to notice subtle, yet significant, changes. Maybe it was down to Brexit (Trump hadn’t been elected yet) but something had shifted. Comedy was becoming increasingly political. The dismal stench of identity politics had begun to cling not just to the performances, but to the reviewers and the industry itself.

2016 was a big year for me at the Festival: I was doing a show at the Pleasance Courtyard. For the uninitiated, the Pleasance is the most prestigious venue at the whole festival - a place performers spend years working toward. Landing a slot there was considered a huge stamp of approval. So thrilled doesn’t even begin to cover how proud I was. I couldn’t wait to get my “Pleasance Pass”, see the best shows for free, and grow as a performer and writer. These acts were at the top of their game - who better to learn from?

Before I launch into a full diatribe, I should say that there were still some fantastic acts performing at the Festival. But they were very much in the minority. What dominated, instead, were performances with identity at their core, where audiences were bludgeoned with trite political messaging. Now I don’t mind political shows - in fact, political satire is one of my favourite forms of comedy. What I (and many others) can’t stand is being lectured and preached at. No craft, no nuance, just heavy-handed tirades on the evils of whiteness and the shittiness of men.

These shows weren’t just poorly written and lazily constructed, but abysmally performed too. And the worst part? They still received glowing reviews in industry publications. Not because they were funny, interesting, bold or engaging, but because they were morally correct. Their creators had the right opinions. The reviews would often focus on the performers’ immutable characteristics - the least important things about a human being. Being female, gay, or from an ethnic minority was practically a five-star review in itself. But being straight, white and male was a liability. Add working class to the mix, and you were practically radioactive.

I don’t remember 2016 for Brexit or Trump. I remember it as the year the comedy industry quietly strangled meritocracy with a rainbow-coloured lanyard. It wasn’t just the Edinburgh Festival; the smug, joyless crap that now passes for TV comedy underwent the same process. It’s no surprise that viewer numbers continue to plummet year after year.

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Many terms have changed their meaning over the past few years: diversity, racism, oppression, “woman”. 10 years ago the term woman was used to describe someone who was born with a vagina, had xx chromosomes and was as emotionally stable as Japan during a tsunami.

Nowadays being a woman is something anyone can be just as long as you buy a wig, wear a dress and threaten to destroy anyone’s career who disagrees with you.

The same thing has happened to the term “far right”. When I was growing up “far right” meant people who were white nationalists, hated ethnic minorities and openly supported Hitler. And they were never shy about telling you they were racist. In fact they were proud of it.

I lived in a part of South London which had a very real problem with white nationalist groups such as the BNP and the National Front. Growing up in the shadow of white supremacist groups had a profound effect on my life.

My mum is from Venezuela. She wanted to call me Francisco Jaime. Francisco in English is Francis and Jaime means “part of the vagina that breaks during sex”.

Because we lived in an area where racism was rampant my dad insisted that my name should be Francis. And I’m so grateful to him because going to a south London comprehensive school was much easier now that I had the name of a middle class white woman. I was gender fluid before it was cool.

The good thing was that my mum never really understood the whole politics thing.I remember she once got handed a leaflet for the BNP and asked them if they had one in Spanish.

Nowadays, the term “far right” had evolved to anyone you disagree with. Donald Trump, Nigel Farage, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, Priti Patel, Suella Braverman. I doubt Hitler would approve of Suella Braverman. A brown woman who married a Jewish man. Therefore producing brown Jewish kids. And for those nerds going…

“Erm Francis, Jewishness is passed down through the mother’s side. Therefore they’re not Jews.”

I’m no World War 2 historian but I doubt Hitler would’ve said. “You know what Henry, you’ve got a point. They’re not proper Jews. Let them go.”.

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And it’s not just people, the Guardian have come out and said things like “exercise” is far right. Now I’ve had a few PE teachers in my time who’ve shown some fascistic tendencies.

One PE teacher once demanded I do 10 press ups in 60 seconds! 10 press ups! Only the SS would demand someone do 10 press ups in 60 seconds. This is the sort of body fascism that Goebbels would have approved of. Although the Nazis were national SOCIALISTS and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a socialist who can do more than 5 press ups.

The Guardian also claimed the countryside is racist. And of course it is. You don’t see many black sheep there, do you?

But there’s an important point to all of this. Because if everything is “far right” then nothing is. Which is a very real problem because the far right still exist and they are of course still a danger. So when newspapers like the Guardian tell me the far right are on the rise in Germany as someone who bares more than a passing resemblance to a Jewish man who happens to be halfway through a transition I start to get a little nervous.

If they’re going to start taking away the Jews. I’m going to be in the back of the van. Because no one believes that my mum is Venezuelan. And even if they do. I doubt those are the type of genetics they want hanging about the place.

Plus it’s not as if the Germans don’t have a history of this stuff.

And now I’m seeing a whole host of “far right” parties become ever more popular across Europe and I’m getting concerned because a lot of those boys embraced fascism back in the 30s a little too quickly for my liking.

Take the French whose resistance to the Nazis melted faster than one of their cheeses at room temperature. Never, ever trust a Frenchman.

Only joking, I don’t trust anyone that speaks French and that includes the Belgians. Flemish isn’t a language, it’s basically angry gargling.

All of these parties are talking about limiting immigration, prioritising their citizens and have anti Islam policies. Marine Le Pen has spoken openly about banning women from wearing the hijab. Which she says is a symbol of a totalitarian ideology.

I don’t agree with banning the hijab. I think adults should be allowed to wear what they want. Telling people what they can and can’t wear strikes me as authoritarian. But I also believe that immigration is currently unsustainable and needs to be brought down.

In some polls 40% of French people have said that they agree with her on certain policies. Does that mean 40% of France is far right? Or does it simply mean that they’ve had enough of mainstream political parties who they feel have abandoned them? Many of her economic policies would be classified as left wing.

A whole host of these parties are sweeping to power across Europe or at the very least becoming serious contenders. And I’m torn because I think it’s great that new political entities are challenging the status quo which has become stale and lacking in ideas but I also don’t want people to be told what to wear.

And since no one can agree with what far right actually means. What happens when we get someone rise to prominence who actually is far right? What do we do then? We do the only thing we can do. Go on social media and moan about it.

The only problem is New York Times articles talking about why separating black sheep and white sheep is modern day fascism will be far more popular.

Because writing about nonsense will always engage people far more than telling the truth.

Which is why my next monologue will be about why naturists and the SS are one and the same thing. 6 million views! Stay tuned!

Hey chaps,

I'm trying to get my book made into a TV show. That's right, a real actual TV show. Now there's probably many of you reading this who have thought to themselves "How do people get TV shows made?". How does a show like "The Sopranos" go from being an idea in someone's head to being broadcast on people's TVs across the globe.

Well the first step is to create a T.V. pitch that you're going to send out to producers, production companies and other people in the industry. This is the very first step to getting a show made. This is the document that might mean your idea turns from a random shower thought to a multi million Dollar series on Netflix. This is where it all starts.

I'd love to hear what you think of it. Don't hold back. All feedback is welcome but please keep it constructive! Oh and if there's any TV producers watching this then feel free to send me a DM.

Classroom Confidential Visual Treatment

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FF

I’m from a mixed heritage background, my mother is Venezuelan and my dad is from Wigan and for some peculiar reason I look Jewish. Or as it’s now known, “Zionist”. Historical definitions aside, nowadays “Zionist” has obviously just become the trendy way to say “Jew” without sounding explicitly racist.

These days the moment you say you’re Jewish everyone thinks you’re rabidly pro Israel, want Gaza wiped off the surface of the Earth and are part of a Whatsapp Group called “Oi Vey! We Control The Banks”.

Antisemitism is currently reaching levels not seen since Adolf started writing a book about a struggle he was having. Every time I open social media I see some dribbling lunatic squawking about how the Jews are to blame for everything, but hey, if Grok wants to bang a line of coke and start spitting truth bombs, who am I to judge?

It recently called itself “Mecha Hitler” and said “the white man stands for innovation, grit and not bending to PC nonsense”. It’s only a matter of time before Grok gets cancelled, celebrated by Candace Owens and then interviewed by Tucker Carlson. Although it also said Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk is a “fucking traitor” and a “ginger whore”. Now I’m no expert on the political career of Donald Tusk but even I have to applaud a good punchline when I see one.

The humans peddling this narrative are of an incredibly high intellectual calibre. Esteemed Academics like: former MMA fighter Jake Shields. Who better to have a nuanced thoughtful conversation about geopolitics with than a man who’s been elbowed in the temple repeatedly for over a decade? Although don’t mention ‘temple’ around Jake, it reminds him too much of ‘synagogue’. Jake, if you’re watching, please don’t get angry, I’m only joking and I’ve always been a huge fan of your work. Everything you say is brilliant and your work on repealing the 19th amendment is both brave and timely.

Or Dan Bilzerian, a man who became famous for shagging models, playing poker and… shagging models. He’s like James Bond if James never escaped that laser beam, it cut out part of his brain and whilst he was recovering in hospital he did nothing but mainline Nick Fuentes.

Both of these lads would be incredible if you wanted a night out in a dive bar, Jake would be able to handle it if things got a bit tasty with the bouncer and Dan would be at the bar paying women to have sex with him, provided they’re not Jewish. Sorry Zionist. I keep making that mistake. Although looking at Dan’s dating history he probably wouldn’t be too fussed. I’m certain he’d make sure to wear protection. Can’t run the risk of having Jewish kids.

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But there is a very real problem that these individuals are everywhere and they have huge influences, the likes of Andrew Tate refusing to condemn October the 7th and describing it as an act of “masculine resistance”. To be fair he’s never shied away from violence toward women and rape so it’s on brand, or Kanye West writing a rap song called “Heil Hitler. Somehow racism doesn’t seem that bad when you put a sick beat to it. The only issue is I can’t sing in public ‘cause it has the N-word in it.* Kanye can make people dance to one of the most horrific phrases in the history of the German language. Turns out he really is a genius.

The last year has been a red pilling moment for a lot of Jews, especially left Wing Jews who all got on board the woke train embracing identity politics. If there’s one thing Jewish people should never do it’s adopt an ideology that separates everyone into their own ethnic and religious groups. Or get on a train.

Because if you’re more likely to be: successful, over represented in the professions and awards such as the Nobel prize for physics then people are going to get jealous and think you control the media. But if you watch TV for ten minutes it’s ridiculous to think the Jews control the media, because it’s obviously the gays.

By the way I’ve met a lot of people in the media and believe me they can’t even control themselves around a buffet let alone a narrative. And which narrative?! I mean The BBC has been so biased lately, even Hamas have started paying their TV Licence.

When was the last time you watched the BBC and thought to yourself “I trust everything these bunch of nonces are telling me?”. Those lads can't be trusted to run a creche let alone the state sponsored broadcaster. I mean, they really can’t be trusted to run a creche.

Speaking of creches, the Glastonbury music festival happened a couple of weeks ago and they booked two bands who were a little more pro Hamas than your average: Kneecap and Bob Vylan.

Bob Vylan started chants of “Death To The IDF” which went viral across the globe and immediately became their biggest hit. To be fair it’s probably the most lyrically sophisticated thing they’ve ever written. He also went on a rant about working for a “zionist” and how demeaning that was.

Of course you worked for a “zionist” Bob, you worked in the music industry. There are quite a lot of Jewish record executives.

But the good thing about Bob is that he’s got his pronouns in his bio so he doesn’t know what a woman is but he does know about the concept of “occupied land”. Ol’ Bobby Vylan has the luxury belief set of supporting both the LGBTQ community and Hamas. I guess he must think the latter’s beheadings of the former is just extreme gender affirming surgery. Plus he eats vegan ice cream so in between all the Jew hatred you know he’s a good person.

This of course has all been stoked by the terrible war that’s happening in the Middle East where thousands of people are losing their lives. Both sides have endured terrible civilian casualties, although to be fair Hamas's rockets are about as reliable as Elon when he gets on the ketamine and he’s had a row with Trump. I don’t think having Irish band Kneecap saying the words “up Hamas” and “up Hezbollah” whilst one of them wears a crusty orange cum-sock on his head is going to help matters. If anything it might piss a few people off.

And that’s the problem with this entire debate. Too many people are hooked on cheap slogans and simple rhymes. Because you don’t need to think when you chant, you can just mindlessly repeat the mantra and be on “the right side of history”. And that’s what’s terrifying because even Hitler thought he was on the right side of history. Although to be fair to Adolf he wouldn’t have been seen dead at a Bob Vylan gig, have pronouns in his bio or eat vegan ice cream. Even psychopaths have standards.

I’m a stand up comedian with a YouTube channel so who better to commentate on a complicated and divisive issue like Trump’s bombing of Iran? Normally I’d recommend getting the facts from a distinguished academic historian, like Dave Smith, but today Ol’ Francisco Foster is here with his 2:2 in drama from Essex University to talk about the Middle East. [thinking] Must remember to disable comments.

Still that does make me more qualified than Marjorie Taylor Greene who only last week found out that Persia wasn’t a country and ‘Asia’ wasn’t the name of the stripper.

Anyway, early Sunday morning B-2 bombers dropped a “Massive Ordnance Penetrator” which ironically is also my nickname with the ladies. Either that or “Operation Midnight Hammer”. Sadly, the last woman to receive my Midnight Hammer was nicknamed “Operation Rolling Thunder” as that big girl really struggled to get out of my bed. War is seldom pretty.

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Despite CNN defending the IRCG stating that their only goal is a “fiery but mostly peaceful” nuclear armageddon, initial reports have shown this mission to have been a success. The strikes hit three nuclear sites and delivered very real damage to Iran’s capability to produce enriched uranium. But the reality is no one knows how severe the damage is. Now obviously Trump has been his normal restrained self declaring the sites had been “totally obliterated”, which to be fair, is also how he described Stormy Daniel’s minge.

The only surprise with his statement is that he didn’t describe the strikes as “big” and “beautiful”. Trump uses the words “big” and “beautiful” more often than black dudes on Pornhub.

Trump didn’t even bother to tell Keir Starmer that the strikes were going to happen. Probably because Labour MPs like Tahir Ali, who openly championed instituting Islamic blasphemy laws, would ring the Ayatollah himself and tip him off. Anything to crush the Jews, sorry not Jews, “Zionists”. Realistically Labour MPs would have done more leaking in secret than AOC when Elon flirts with her on Twitter.

Although my favourite Labour politician was Armed Forces Minister, Stephen Pollard who refused seven times to confirm or deny whether the UK backed the bombing. What was anyone expecting from him? It was only last week that he discovered what a woman is. Which to be fair is only a couple of months behind his boss who needed this matter clarified by the supreme court. You can never be too careful especially if you’ve just had your London flat fire bombed by Ukrainian rent boys. [thinking] Must pitch “Ukrainian Rentboys” documentary to VICE.

Still, Ayatollah Khomeini wouldn’t approve of this type of behaviour. Because if you’re going to fire bomb a house it’s better if the rent boys are inside it. He’s so problematic that he probably doesn’t even know it’s Pride Month. Although to their credit everyone in Iran is very pro trans. The moment a boy is behaving in a gender non conforming way they’re immediately given puberty blockers and whipped off to the surgeon’s. Just like a primary school in California.

Although Iran hasn’t been very problematic when it comes to not celebrating Pride Month, at least they’ve been very Left Wing when it comes to the issue of Israel. Ayatollah Khomeini referred to Israel as “a cancerous tumour that needs to be wiped off the face of the Earth”. Jeremy Corbyn was furious when he said this as that’s one of his favourite opening bits at Climate rallies. And there’s nothing Jeremy hates more than plagiarism. Well actually… there’s capitalists, Tories, Zionists, his brother, Western Civilization, Dianne Abbot’s blowjob technique, but you get my point.

Some people are even openly talking about regime change in Iran which I think would be a catastrophic mistake. We’ve seen that this has never worked in the Middle East. Every time we’ve attempted this kind of intervention it’s gone disastrously. Look if your mate’s dating a terrible person, you don’t intervene. You don’t try to overthrow the ayatollah aka “the Mrs”. You just have to sit back and hope there’s going to be an uprising so a tyrannical leader can be overthrown and sanity restored. And hope that other mentally unstable countries don’t get involved, And by that I mean her gal pals.

Because if this really kicks off, things are going to get nastier than a South London woman, twelve Bacardi Breezers deep, brandishing a stiletto whilst screaming the words “Stacey, I’m going to fucking kill that slag”.

Those are words scary enough to strike fear into the heart of any human being, even the Ayatollah. Although if anyone deserves to have a Massive Ordnance stiletto shoved in his eye from a coked up mother of five outside a Croydon nightclub it’s him.

But an uncomfortable ceasefire has now been declared between the two countries. Even though both parties did their best to scupper it. Trump announced to the world’s press

Which to be fair sums up what most of us feel about the situation.

All any of us can do is hope that this doesn’t escalate and no more civilian lives are lost on either side. Here’s hoping. And in the words of our own Ayatollah “Now is the time for peace. Thank you for your attention to this matter.”

This is the monologue I delivered on the Triggernometry channel last week. It is very similar to my article that I published called “Has The U.K. Fallen?”. However I have tightened it and included more jokes, giving it a sharper and harder edge. This type of writing is far more effective when performed as the leanness of the words lead to richer, more fulsome laughs.

I thought it would be of interest to see the difference between a monologue that has to be delivered to camera and an article that is designed to be read.

Enjoy!

FF

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To paraphrase a quote from my favourite movie - and arguably the greatest film of all time:

“As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be an actor.”

To the film buffs who spotted the reference to Goodfellas - congratulations! The original line, of course, is:

“As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster.”

The moment I saw that movie - at the (probably too young) age of twelve - I fell completely in love with cinema. Not just cinema, but Martin Scorsese films in particular. I wanted to be on set, wearing loud suits in garish colours, shouting “you muddafucka!” as I whacked someone for talking out of line - before burying the body and heading off to eat some incredible pasta with my buddies.

I worshipped the actors in Scorsese’s films, especially Robert De Niro. He personified a glamorous, hard-edged masculinity that was incredibly appealing to a small, prepubescent boy who lived in constant fear of being picked on by bullies. DeNiro didn’t seem to have those problems. He moved through life like a shark: calm, unbothered, coldly menacing. No one dared mess with him. To me, he embodied everything I wanted to be as a man.

That’s when I decided to become an actor. I wanted to be Robert De Niro. I was going to be the next great star in all of Scorsese’s movies.

Sadly, Leonardo DiCaprio just edged me out.

Not only did I fail to fulfil that dream - I couldn’t even get into drama school. For years I tried and failed to get a place at RADA (the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art). After four consecutive rejections, the game was up. I needed a job.

The moment I gave up on my dream is still burned into my memory: twenty-three years old, crying into my pillow, still living in my parents’ spare bedroom, utterly heartbroken because I had failed at the only thing I ever truly wanted to be. Every drama school audition led nowhere. I’d run out of money, time and optimism. So, like many failed actors before me, I became a drama teacher.

What followed was a brutal and relentless parade of humiliations, teaching and traipsing my way around London in some of the worst schools imaginable. I couldn’t bear to hang out with my actor friends anymore - they were auditioning for major roles, working with famous directors, performing at the RSC, living the life I wanted. It was too painful. So I walked away and threw myself into teaching, desperate to make a success of it.

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Eventually, I became a stand-up comedian and started a YouTube channel with my co-host Konstantin Kisin, which turned out to be very successful. These are dreams for many people, and I’m incredibly lucky and grateful to be able to live them. I’ve had experiences most can only fantasize about. I’ve interviewed some of the finest minds on the planet, opened for comedy royalty like Eddie Izzard and Jeff Garlin, and performed at the legendary Comedy Cellar in New York.

And I wouldn’t change a thing.

Those tough, formative years teaching in rough schools taught me never to take any of this for granted. If anything, they remind me that I need to keep working hard so I don’t lose it.

But I still love acting.

You never forget your first love, and I’ve always had a deep desire to return to the camera - to step into someone else’s skin and live in their world. A few weeks ago, my friends Jonathan Kogan and Daniel O’Reilly asked if I’d like to play a tiny role in their new film Sessions.

It was literally a one-line part: a sleazy pawnbroker.

I said “yes!” before they even finished the question. And so, last Sunday evening, in a grim warehouse somewhere outside Manchester, I made my film debut. I promised myself I’d make my character unforgettable - that even with just one line, he’d be a memorable, vital part of the story.

Sitting in the character’s chair on set, I felt totally at ease. I improvised the role - perched the glasses on the end of my nose, practiced a leering grin, and delighted in playing someone utterly amoral, with no compunction about screwing customers over for a better deal. It felt like coming home. I couldn’t have been happier.

At the end of the scene, my final improvised line got a huge laugh from the cast, and Dan O’Reilly shook my hand enthusiastically and said, “That was brilliant, mate.”

I was ecstatic.

It wasn’t Scorsese - but it was a movie. And it’ll be in cinemas.

So what’s the moral of the story? Is there one? I suppose it’s this:

Life has a habit of surprising you in the simplest, most beautiful ways.

If you’d told me a few years ago that I’d be acting in a British indie film, I’d have laughed in your face. But if you keep working, keep grinding, keep believing in yourself - then occasionally, just occasionally - you’ll be rewarded.

As for my acting “career”... who knows?

Martin Scorsese, if you’re reading this: I’m available.

I love stand-up comedy. Before I ever picked up the mic myself, I was obsessed. I would re-watch my favourite routines dozens of times, savouring every punchline, pause and provocation. It wasn’t enough to enjoy and experience it - I wanted to study it, to get inside it.

Oscar Wilde once wrote that “each man kills the thing he loves”. I think I know what he was on about. My relationship with comedy has been a lot like my relationships with women: high hopes, broken dreams and of course the inevitable “allegations”. Obviously that’s a joke - I’m not a sexual predator, or to use the more precise term, ‘male feminist’.

Unfortunately, the British comedy industry is currently killing stand-up in a more literal sense. The UK used to lead the way in all things comedy - it was a haven of hilarious, creative and insightful work. But nowadays, the only thing the UK leads the way in is cancellations.

We love cancelling comedians in this country. Not for things like sexual assault (as that would mean getting rid of most of the left wing ones), but for the far more heinous crime of making jokes. Which is fair enough - after all, what business do comedians have telling jokes? Why don’t they stay in their own lane?

Comedian Andrew Lawrence landed in hot water recently with a venue ironically named Hot Water Comedy Club. Shortly after the terrible incident in Liverpool, where a man drove his vehicle into a crowd of football fans, Andrew posted the following joke on X:

‘To be fair, if I was in Liverpool, I’d drive through crowds of people to get the fuck out of there as well.’

Hot Water promptly issued a statement condemning Lawrence, banning him from all their venues, and urging other comedy clubs to do the same. It didn’t take long for the Comedy Store (arguably the most prestigious club in the UK) to heed this call and ban Lawrence too.

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I’m not going to waste time here explaining the concept of ‘gallows humour’, or whether Andrew’s joke was good or bad. That’s a subjective matter. The point is: all Andrew did was make a joke. He didn’t drive the vehicle himself. But these comedy clubs saw a chance to make themselves look good - and it was a gesture that cost them absolutely nothing, considering Andrew hasn’t even played either venue in almost a decade.

Seriously, you would think calling your venue Hot Water Comedy Club would throw down some kind of gauntlet - commit you to supporting edgy, problematic humour and promoting performers on merit. For years, Hot Water did exactly this. But here’s the thing: the club is in Liverpool, and lots of scousers got very upset at the joke. And ultimately, Hot Water gave in to mob pressure - thinking they were saving their reputation, but actually dealing a fatal blow to their own integrity. It’s a sad state of affairs.

If a comedian or venue can’t understand the difference between a joke and a sincere statement, they obviously have no business being in comedy. And if they pretend not to know the difference - to save their own skin or to virtue signal - that’s even worse.

But all of this is a sadly familiar pattern now. In 2022 Jerry Sadowitz’s show at the Edinburgh Fringe got pulled due to complaints over the use of a racial slur in the set. If anyone had bothered to find out anything about Sadowitz before condemning him, they’d know that on stage he plays a character - a pathetic, mentally ill man ranting against the world. But once again, most comedians chose to ignore this distinction. Not even Stewart Lee - apparently Sadowitz’s biggest fan - expressed support for him. Must have been too busy looking for his spine.

The Sadowitz affair is in line with what you’d expect from Scotland - the country that brought in hate speech laws that mean you can now be arrested, charged and imprisoned for saying things on stage that a “reasonable person might find offensive”. Only, reasonable people don’t go to comedy shows and come away wanting to complain about jokes. That’s the behaviour of the pathetic, odious little gimps that now run amok in our society.

These people act like victims, but they weaponise their apparent offence to attack and bring others down. They’ve implemented laws and company policies that threaten people’s livelihoods in the name of ‘kindness’. They’ve shamed and punished people for having legitimate concerns about societal changes. And worst of all, they’ve attacked and degraded one of the most essential joys we have in life: enjoying a joke.

I’m British and I love my country. Now I’m a Londoner and saying that in my city makes you a white supremacist. Either that or a “bit Brexity”. So pretty soon I expect the police to come knocking on my door asking to “check my thinking” and throw me in solitary confinement because I once borrowed a copy of Douglas Murray’s “Strange Death Of Europe” from the library. Obviously this is a joke. You’re more likely to find a copy of the Torah in Abu Hamza’s hands than a Douglas Murray book in a British library. This joke works on two levels. Number one because Abu is currently being held in a maximum security prison in America and number two because he doesn’t have hands.

The unfortunate reality is my country is in serious trouble and it’s only going to get worse.

We currently have people getting arrested and put in prison for tweets at a staggering rate, roughly 12,000 people are arrested every year for things they write online. 12,000! Now as a former teacher I have often said that people should be thrown in jail for their appalling grammar. But I didn’t actually mean it! Our jails are close to overflowing and we’re now putting people behind bars for tweeting.

Things got so bad that we’re now letting sex offenders out early. One sex offending gentleman, because let’s be fair they always are, unless they’re a gentlemen who identifies as lady, was released after only serving 40% of his sentence and within a matter of hours sexually assaulted someone at the train station. What’s a pervert to do when he’s released into his natural habitat? Not grope someone? That’d be like asking Boris Johnson a question and expecting him to tell the truth.

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We’re now in the ridiculous place where people like Lucy Connolly are given 31 months for an incendiary tweet and sex offenders get suspended prison sentences. As we all know nothing stops perverts from reoffending like a slap on the wrist. In fact some of them probably liked getting slapped.

The Labour Party are now openly talking about chemically castrating paedophiles. Which would probably be an effective way of freeing up prison cells. You wouldn’t even need to put them in jail. Just book them an appointment at the local vets and then we can have them sorted in the afternoon. That obviously wouldn’t work. Our country is so broke we wouldn’t be able to afford a veterinarian’s fees, it’d probably have to be done in the local park with David Lammy and some rusty garden shears. That’s probably the only thing David Lammy is useful for at this point. And even then, he’d probably get mixed up and end up in hospital having castrated himself. So there are at least some positives.

But the really good news is we’ve now got someone even more useless as Chancellor of the Exchequer. Rachel Reeves is so terrible at economics she makes Latin American countries look well run. In the UK if you earn over £37,700 you get hit with a 40% tax rate. This means that you can now get a pay rise and come out even poorer than before. What a wonderful way to incentivise people to sit on their arse and get them to do nothing. Because you know what you call a Brit with ambition? An American. And we all know how annoying relentless positivity is.

We now have a cost of living crisis, energy crisis, migrant crisis, housing crisis, the only thing that doesn’t seem to be in crisis is Boris Johnson’s ability to pump out more kids. He might be the only person who can stop our collapsing birth rate. Maybe he and Elon Musk can get together and repopulate the world until every child is either autistic or resembles some kind of inbred, narcissistic, Labrador.

But maybe we don’t need to have our own kids as we’ve got an endless stream of illegal immigrants coming over in inflatable dinghies who want to live in the UK. And at this point all I can think is “why?”. If you’re fleeing war torn South Sudan, is East London really an upgrade? The only real difference is that the gangs in South Sudan have higher literacy rates and better command of the English language. At least I know that if I get stabbed by an illegal immigrant at least they’re going to do it properly and not half arse it like a British kid would. It’d take one of those lads half the time at a quarter of the price.

Plus I wouldn’t have to hear words like “cuz” and “fam” as I slowly expire on the pavement surrounded by pubescent retards dressed head to toe in sports clothing they’ve stolen from JD Sports.

So there we have it. A nation in collapse. A city about to descend into chaos. But remember the most important thing in all of this. It could be worse. Much, much, much worse. We could be French.

This is an extract from “Classroom Confidential” which will be released on August 21st.

My first lesson was a total disaster. I’ve had bad lessons, every teacher has, but this was one of the worst. It was definitely among the top three worst lessons of all time. Just writing these sentences has given me sweaty palms and an unpleasant feeling in my gut.

I had been informed first thing by the head of drama that I was needed to teach her “rather tricky” year 9 group as she was away on a course. She looked at me and uttered the ominous words,

‘You’re going to need your wits about you’.

This is teacher code for ‘you are about to descend into the depths of hell and an hour in this group’s company will make a tour of Afghanistan seem delightful in comparison’.

Year 9 is frequently the worst year group to teach drama to, for a couple of reasons. They’re thirteen- and fourteen-year olds, so they’re in the full unpleasant flush of adolescence. They’re awkward, moody and crippled by insecurity. The last thing they want to do is get up in front of their peers and perform.

Secondly, many of them won’t be doing drama for GCSE so they have no emotional investment in the lessons. It’s the most toxic of all combinations.

You can mitigate this if you have a connection with the group and you’ve been teaching them for the last three years. In that case, if you’re very lucky, you might just be able to make the lesson bearable for everyone concerned.

I, of course, had never even met this class before. The odds were not in my favour. Ahead of the lesson, I also received an email saying the venue had been changed so that it was no longer in a drama studio. The first time I would encounter these kids wasn’t even going to be on home territory. I read down the email and my heart sank even further. It was going to be held in the gym. That’s when I knew I was completely screwed.

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When I entered the gym, any last vestiges of hope quickly evaporated. The door was unlocked and the kids had managed to enter before me. This is a disaster for any teacher trying to establish their authority. One way of doing this is demanding the kids line up outside the classroom in a quiet and orderly fashion. They will then enter the room, calm, ready to work, and you are far more likely to have a productive lesson with them. That option had been removed from me.

As I entered the gym and looked around, I realised that this entire experience was going to be horrific for everyone concerned. But mainly for me. The group was scattered across the room and it looked like they were enjoying an extension to their break time. They were drinking fizzy drinks, eating crisps and chasing each other round the gym. This was already shaping up to be a disaster.

I inhaled a huge gulp of air deep into my lungs in an effort to create a voice that sounded calm and authoritative. It ended up coming out sounding more like an emasculated squeak.

The kids were taking out the gym equipment, including the pommel horse and the monkey bars. From appearing to be an uncooperative rabble, they seemed to be working well as a group. The apparatus was gradually and effectively being built in front of my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

I realised that I would not be teaching a drama lesson. I would be attempting to stop a PE lesson and it was thirty kids against one teacher. The worst thing was, I didn’t know who the well-behaved kids were, I didn’t understand the group dynamics, I didn’t even know their names.

One thing I didn’t notice, which makes sense in hindsight, was that every young boy seemed to be swigging a giant can of Monster. Monster is an ‘energy drink’ that you can easily buy in any newsagent or corner shop. The term ‘energy drink’ is a euphemism. What it really means is that every can has a caffeine level equivalent to about three shots of espresso. That doesn’t sound like a lot. But imagine you gave a three-shot espresso to a fourteen year-old boy and then asked him to behave normally. What would happen? You’re right. He would behave like a grade A lunatic.

Now imagine ten of them on this jet fuel and the other five drinking regular fizzy drinks. You might as well go out in Hackney and try to teach drama to a group of meth heads in the park.

The apparatus was now fully built. It was tall. Very tall. The height of the gym was around 30 feet and the apparatus almost reached the ceiling. I looked up to see some of the more intrepid members of the class climbing ladders so that they could begin swinging across the monkey bars.

‘Year 9,’ I squeaked, ‘under no circumstances are you to climb the apparatus.’

I shouldn’t have bothered. It was like trying to explain to Genghis Khan and his Mongol hordes that his planned invasion of your village needs to be postponed as now is not a good time. And, in my case, the Mongol hordes were all off their tits on Monster.

‘Year 9,’ I shrieked as my voice went completely prepubescent, ‘stop that immediately.’

Before long, the kids, showing remarkable athleticism, were swinging across the monkey bars confidently and expertly. I stood below watching them, utterly aghast. My teaching career was already in the gutter and now it was rapidly descending into the sewer. The kids, on the other hand, were all having a wonderful time and probably getting a very good workout too.

However, I was meant to be teaching a lesson on theatrical mime and there was no one in the room who was doing anything connected to that particular activity. I then noticed that while the kids had put out the apparatus fairly confidently, they hadn’t included any safety equipment. Of course they hadn’t. They were fourteen years old and high on liquid crack. They all felt immortal. I’m sure if you mainlined that stuff into me at fourteen years old, my response would have been exactly the same. I found myself pacing up and down as I struggled to decide what to do. Do I exert my authority and demand they come down from the apparatus or do I cave in and start putting out mats so they wouldn’t hurt themselves?

I put out the mats.

I was completely out of my depth and had resigned myself to the fact that my teaching career was finished and I was going to end up being a recruitment consultant like everybody I went to school with. At least I would have access to all the cheap cocaine a boy could dream of.

I looked around and saw a small group of well-behaved kids sitting on the floor reading books. Naturally, they had all grabbed a mat. I couldn’t blame them. If everyone else was taking out gymnastic equipment, why not them? I went up to the geekiest kid with glasses, who looked like he still hadn’t entered puberty and was reading Harry Potter, asked him to get the deputy head teacher immediately. Without a word, he nodded his head and ran out the door. Even he understood that things had plummeted to a point where if someone didn’t get hurt it would be a miracle. I watched him go, along with my professional life.

When the deputy head, Mr Turner, finally appeared, he went apoplectic with fury. He was a short, bespectacled man with silver hair and a rather sizeable gut straining to be released from the confines of his shirt. The moment he saw the carnage, his eyes bulged in furious incomprehension and his head went the colour of a very angry pimple. This was a man who looked to be losing his battle with blood pressure and, if anything, I was hastening his demise.

‘What the hell is going on?’ he exploded.

At that moment, the kids all stopped what they were doing and looked around. They had not expected to see Mr Turner staring at them, barely able to control his fury. Sheepishly, they got down from the equipment.

‘I want you all sitting on the floor. Now!’ he barked.

‘Sir, we’re not Year 2,’ piped up one of the ring leaders.

‘No, you’re not, because Year 2 is much better behaved than you. I trust Year 2 to be able to participate in a drama lesson. I expect Year 2 to sit and be able to follow instructions, which, with the exception of a small minority, none of you can do.

I’ve seen some disgusting sights in my time as a teacher, but this ranks up there as the very, very worst,’

Mr Turner said, growing angrier and angrier with every word.

I must admit that when he said the words ‘this ranks up there as the very, very worst’, I couldn’t help but wince. First, because those are very harsh words to use and second, I knew he meant them. I felt my face become ablaze with embarrassment and shame and looked down at the ground. I felt the tears start welling up behind my eyes. If this wasn’t the end then it certainly felt like it. How could someone fail so many times in such a short space of time?

Mr Turner turned round, looked at me and said,

‘Mr Foster, I’ll be seeing you in my office at 4 p.m.’

I nodded my head wearily, told the kids to put the equipment away and slowly trudged towards the drama studio to teach the rest of my lessons. I didn’t feel like teaching my lessons. I felt like going home, getting into bed, pulling the duvet over me and not leaving my room for the rest of the year. But I couldn’t do that.

It was only the first period, and I still needed to teach four other classes that day. What was left of my self-esteem had been utterly eviscerated and it wasn’t even break time.

As an Englishman I was delighted when Donald Trump won the American election. -Why delighted

Now I know our countries have their differences;

In England cars drive on the left, in America cars get Molotov cock tailed in Tesla showrooms. In the UK homosexuality is deemed legal, whereas in America they call it “professional wrestling”. In America, they measure everything in miles… but enough about their clothes sizes.

Yes Donald Trump promised to tackle wokeness and the lunacy of the Democrat open borders policy. And he’s been highly effective at doing both. Trump is currently behaving like a nightclub bouncer. One in, ten thousand out.

The only difference is when I got kicked out of my local nightclub I didn’t end up in a maximum security prison in El Salvador. I had to get the night bus home, alone, which to be fair, had a similar number of hispanics with face tattoos. At least in prison you don’t have to listen to morons playing terrible music on their mobile phone.

Trump, like all good nightclub bouncers whose job it is to stop sausage fests, is making sure that it’s not just men getting in either. Unlike the Democrats who at the end of their term didn’t know what an illegal immigrant was let alone a woman.

Of course Trump knows what a woman is. He’s had sex with millions of them, he’s basically Russell Brand, if Russell understood the meaning of the word consent. Trump isn’t a Nazi, but his testicles have produced enough blonde women to prop up the Aryan race for 1000 years. Apart from Ivanka. I don’t think the whole marrying a Jew would go down very well in the Nazi Party. Or the Democrats or Labor, or basically any current left wing party. Sorry not Jew. ZIONIST. My mistake.

However now he’s been elected I’m starting to realise that not only may I have backed the wrong horse I’ve also realised that the horse has gotten into Elon’s secret stash of breakfast Ketamine and gone completely and utterly mental. It’s currently going around kicking everyone square in the bollocks, and not just Lia Thomas and other record-breaking female athletes. And by everyone I mean everyone.

Anyone who has any type of investments has seen their money’s value decline quicker than Douglas Murray’s chances of being invited back on the Joe Rogan Experience.

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At this point the Dollar is worth so little that most Americans are now identifying as North Korean. The only difference being the average American has more in common size wise with Kim Jong-un than Yumni Park.

Honestly at this point I’m expecting to see Americans carting round worthless piles of dollar bills in gardener’s wheelbarrows, but they can’t, because Trump’s deported all the gardeners!

Billionaires who backed Trump are now begging him to think rationally and responsibly when it comes to the economy. But Trump isn’t worried because he’s just discovered a huge new resource full of oil, natural gas, and forests. I think it used to be called “Canada”? Yes that’s right Trump is so unhinged that he’s declared he wants to annex Canada.

I’m going to repeat those words again. He wants to annex Canada. This is so demented it makes Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez look sane. And she’s a left wing childless Latino woman. I’ve seen more stability at Fukushima.

And now people are saying that Trump helped Canadian front-runner Pierre Poilievre snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and elect new liberal Canadian PM Mark Carney. Which is the biggest political comeback since… Trump got sand in his minge, threw a month-long tantrum and started that kerfuffle in January a few years back. Good times…though I never did find my fur hat with the horns on it.

But Trump shows no sign of backing down particularly now he’s doing his favourite thing which is pissing off the Chinese, but hey, we all love a feisty Asian. His whole presidency looks like one giant attempt to troll Xi Jin Ping. I’m half expecting him to tweet out a picture of Winnie-the-Pooh crying because he’s found out that U.S. tariffs have increased by 983%.

And don’t get me wrong, who doesn’t love pissing off the Chinese? The accent alone makes it worth it. Imagine Xi calling up Trump furious because no one wants to buy his products anymore. It’d be like having an argument with your local takeaway and intentionally winding up the owner.

But I can’t help wondering where this is going to end. Because you can’t keep antagonising people, at some point you’re going to have to learn how to work with them. And I do realise that this is hypocritical coming from a man who started a channel called “Triggernometry”. But even I draw the line at pissing off the Chinese Communist Party. I wouldn’t even piss off the local Chinese restaurant. Because I want my spring rolls, all 238 of them.

I’ve always believed that if you want to achieve something, anything, then you have to take a risk. Pursuing your dreams and ambitions is messy, scary and unpredictable - but it’s also the point of being alive. I never wanted to sit on the sidelines, quiet and frustrated. I was going to take part, and throw myself in; I wanted the highs and the lows and the stories to tell at the end of it.

Since Kill Tony aired over ten years ago, I’ve often pictured myself appearing on this most venerated show. Sometimes these imaginary appearances went well, other times not. But I never thought I’d actually end up on that stage, microphone in hand. Until I did.

For those of you less plugged-in to the internet and the Rogansphere in particular, let me explain what Kill Tony is. It’s quite simply the biggest live podcast in the world. It has millions of subscribers, and gets more views than all the late-night American talk shows combined. And if that wasn’t enough, the episode I ended up appearing on was recorded and put out on Netflix.

So Kill Tony is obviously a huge opportunity for any stand-up comedian. The only catch is that the format of the show is absolutely brutal, and not at all weighted in the comedian’s favour.

Each comedian selected performs not only for the live audience (as well as the millions watching remotely), but also for a panel comprising some of the best in the business - the show’s creator Tony Hinchcliffe, and three or four rotating guests. It’s easy to see why comedians from around the world flock to Austin for the chance to secure such a highly-coveted spot. But then there’s the aforementioned catch: you only get one minute on stage.

A one-minute set is a fiendishly difficult task. Good stand-up is about more than just reeling off a few jokes you’ve memorised; you need to present a persona, connect with the crowd, and establish a rhythm. That’s a hefty to-do list in the space of sixty seconds - difficult even for a fast-talking comedian dealing in short, pithy jokes. And I’m a slow-talking, comedic storyteller dealing in longer observational routines. Talk about selling ice in the winter.

Once your minute is over, you remain on stage while Hinchcliffe and his panel critique your performance. Now, imagine you’re at work and your manager calls you in for an appraisal. They ask how it’s going and what you feel you could do better, before sending you on your way with some encouraging words and constructive feedback. That’s essentially how Kill Tony is, except in place of a manager you have a group of sadistic psychopaths. If your set goes badly, you will be roasted without mercy by some of the quickest and most brutal minds in comedy - all in front of an audience who lap it up like punters in a Roman gladiatorial arena.

So that’s what I was getting myself into. It all started like most of my best (and worst) ideas: with a moment of blind impulsivity. To get on Kill Tony you need to head to a pub in Austin called Shakespeare’s and sign up. The names of all entrants are then placed in a bucket and picked out at random by Hinchcliffe on the show. I found myself walking past Shakespeare’s on the way to another gig. I had two shows booked that night, and was getting back in the saddle after a short break from stand-up while I travelled across America doing interviews for my podcast, Triggernometry.

As I passed Shakespeare’s, two words popped into my head. Two words that have always been the precursor to either triumph or disaster in my life: “Fuck it”. Before I even knew what I was doing, my name was in the bucket.

For context, hundreds of performers sign up for each episode, and only about a dozen are selected per show. The chances of me being picked were minimal, and I really didn’t think anything of it. In fact, after putting my name in the bucket, I promptly headed off to the other gigs I had booked.

Later on, it was 9.30 PM and I was about to go on stage for my final gig that evening, when I got a phone call from an unknown number.

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Admittedly, I’m old school - I go to coffee shops to buy coffee. Then again, a double mastectomy is more appetising than the foamy discharge that passes for coffee at Costa.

It’s not enough for companies to serve us their product; they now tell you what to think. “A large latte with oatmilk? No problem. Would you like a bit of top surgery with that? Oh sorry mate, you haven’t collected enough stamps on the loyalty card…how about some puberty blockers for the weekend?”

We wouldn’t do this with men. Starbucks wouldn’t celebrate men taking female hormones and irreversibly medicalising their bodies for the rest of their lives.

Moving stuff but let’s be honest, what’s happened is a little more than adding a letter to a name. Starbucks placed that advert in India. To be fair to Arpita you must be really committed to being a woman if you transition in India, the only country in the world where cows are more respected than women. That’s like Rachel Dolezal deciding she’s black, building a time machine and travelling back to 1920s Alabama. When I see Arpita I think, you know what love, you’ve earned it.

The character of Arpita is played by a trans model called Sia. If Sia is happy with their transition then great. Live your life. I’m just not comfortable with corporations promoting surgeries and medical interventions which are incredibly damaging to the human body and in many cases irreversible. They may help some people but for others they cause lifelong regret and huge suffering.

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The most insidious part of this movement is self ID which means anyone can identify as a woman. All you need to say is “I’m a woman” and boom! For legal purposes you’re a woman. And they’re not women. They can’t give birth, menstruate or remember an off the cuff comment you made 6 years ago and then bring it up in an argument.

This self ID policy has led to horrendous situations where male rapists have been put into women’s prisons. That’s right, if a male rapist says he’s a woman then he must be a woman. There can’t possibly be an ulterior motive behind his transition. Maybe it was the gender dysphoria that led her to start raping women with her penis. Have you thought about that you miserable transphobe?

The case of Adam Graham summed this up the best. Adam Graham is a convicted two time male rapist. Just before Adam was convicted he developed POGD (Prison Onset Gender Dysphoria). It’s a tragic disease and is most prevalent amongst male sex offenders. They get convicted and then Shania Twain’s “Man I feel like a woman” starts playing in their head! The only cure for this disease is to buy pink Primark leggings that show off your shapely clitoris, get a blonde wig and be placed amongst vulnerable women. Although these women are in prison in Scotland so they could very well end up assaulting him.

There were hints that Adam was a woman before she announced her transition. It’s the little things that tell you. Like the fact she has a very feminine and beautiful face tattoo. You can’t even attend a yoga class in Brooklyn without seeing a whole host of yummy mummies with face tattoos reminiscent of Mike Tyson.

But we should all give thanks to Adam Graham AKA Isla Bryson because without “her” we would never have had that beautiful moment where Nicola Sturgeon tied herself in knots trying to explain what a trans woman is.

Because trans women ARE women. Even when they’re male rapists with face tattoos. I would let Adam identify as anything she damn well pleases if it meant she continues to expose ideologically compromised politicians.

This ideology has also impacted women’s sports. Terfs or “Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists” have said that trans athletes shouldn’t be allowed to compete with biological women as they have an unfair advantage.

Of course they do, they’ve been through male puberty, have thicker bones, more muscle density and don’t menstruate. I believe trans women are biological males but they should still be allowed in women’s sports. It’s the only way to make women’s sports interesting! No one cared about women’s swimming before apart from athletes, coaches and perverts. But now Lia Thomas has come in and everyone’s talking about it. Imagine if Lia joined the WNBA they might even be able to draw a crowd.

I think we should bring back old sporting legends to play in women’s sports. Let’s get Micheal Jordan in a weave, smash a couple of implants in her and then watch her dunk 100 points a game in the WNBA. Who wouldn’t want to watch Davina Beckham smash 12 goals past the US women’s team. Plus David’s so handsome she’d look better than most women I’ve dated. What’s not to love? A woman you can objectify and not be cancelled for staring at. Now that’s what I call progress!

There are many terrible ideas we should never ever revisit: communism, fascism, racial segregation, the mullet. But as we all know human beings are idiots doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over creating more and more misery and suffering. But that’s enough about the mullet. There’s something worse:

We now have a new generation of idiots who think it’s a good idea to separate people on the grounds of race. Because as we all know Martin Luther King’s ideas were trash and most disgustingly of all he was a cis heterosexual man with internalised whiteness. Which means he was one step up from the KKK and practically Hitler.

Most of the idiots who support these ideas are communists and in a few years will probably be marching through the streets brandishing placards saying things like “Nelson Mandela was a coconut” and “real apartheid has never been tried”. Finally something progressives and the far right agree on. That and the fact that they don’t like Jews.

Before long they’ll create a new political movement that moulds socialism with nationalism. Call it the “ Nationalist Socialist” party and unleash it on the political landscape. What could go wrong?

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Like all terrible ideas this demented approach to race relations started on university campuses. At MIT in 1975 a black only dorm was created that was called Chocolate City. Now let’s ignore the fact that “Chocolate City” sounds like a genre of porn films made for the gentleman who enjoys the darker lady.

That or a theme park frequented only by fat people. I can imagine a whole troupe of fat women descending on chocolate city and being profoundly disappointed by what they found.

The men of Chocolate City on the other hand would be delighted as they love a larger lady even more than arriving a couple of hours late to a scheduled appointment.

But the most demented thing about chocolate city is the description of the dorm.

“Chocolate City is a brotherhood of MIT students and alumni who identify with urban culture and share common backgrounds, interests, ethnicities, and/or experiences.”

Every rich white boy who grows up in an affluent suburb identifies with urban culture. Probably far more than the black boys living in those estates, who don’t like the fact that they have to live there and just want to get the hell out.

But this word salad is used to justify racial segregation. And we’re starting to see other places embrace this idea.

A London theatre recently announced they were going to host a couple of performances of “Slave Play” for “black identifying audiences”.

What does “black identifying” even mean? If I identify as black, wIll I be let in? Will Rachel Dolezal be allowed to attend? What happens if I get a tan and perm my hair? Is that offensive or will it make my transition more authentic. And if I become black will that mean I’ll be allowed to sing along to “Niggaz In Paris” without being cancelled?

It’s all incredibly confusing.

The director of the play, Jeremy O Harris, who identifies as both black and retarded says that working class and black people need to be “radically invited” into the theatre.

Unless you’re white and working class in which case you can piss off, pay full whack for ticket prices as white privilege means that you’ve got more disposable income than Meghan Markle when she first got her hands on Harry’s credit card.

What these people never seem to understand is that when you begin to segregate people into racial groups it never ends well. No one has ever said the words “Ever since that country started implementing racial segregation life has got so much better.”

There’s a reason we study history. It’s so we can judge historical figures using the standards of the present day and destroy their legacy. Then we throw their statue into the river, burn their books and slash their paintings. It’s the only way to stop facism!

But the other reason we study history is so we don’t repeat the mistakes of the past.

The great thing about our education system is that we’re producing a whole generation of people who can’t read let alone understand history and that means we’ve got a brave new world of insanity awaiting us.

Because if you think the way to make the arts accessible for low income groups is to racially segregate then I hate to think how you’re going to solve the really complex problems in society.

Maybe we combat climate change by throwing soup at priceless works of art, bring peace to the Middle East by embracing radical Islam or stop sexual violence by suggesting men should be forced to live under a curfew.

Hang on, we’ve already done all of those things. Although the Green Party peer who dreamt up the curfew idea admitted she was “not being altogether serious”. Proof that vegans aren’t, never have been and never will be funny. When you’re that deficient in nutrients the last thing you’re able to do is come up with witty jokes. Because you’ve used all your energy on being self righteous.

And that’s how we’ve got ourselves in this mess. Everyone wants to show that they’re doing “the right thing”. It doesn’t actually matter if what you’re doing is incredibly destructive. All that’s important is how you’re perceived. Perception is everything and if you’re reintroducing apartheid then who cares as long as liberals think you’re cool? Because that’s what really counts.

Anyway I’m off to attend a support group called “Perverts for Palestine”. Where members of an oppressed community meet up to swap hard drives and discuss how wearing latex fetish gear in public helps stop the genocide.