It occurs to Helmut...

... that a would-be commenter, of which there are roughly five on this enlightening, entertaining, and altogether, how shall we say it, delightfully Kiplingesque site of fructification, might say, if they were strangers to the fivefold fold, that the preceding post is overly injudicious, or perhaps even insufficiently Scottish, in the tone of its "fook off." Dear interlocutors, Helmut would say to aforementioned hypothetical commentators on the condition of such vulgarisms contrary to those particularly ripe child-bearing interests of the political class,... dear interlocutors!!, do we not cry apocryphally for our own sins? Do we not, dear critics, die of a thousand sabres come to rest upon the veins of our outrage? Do we not, I beseech you, bloodlet the leech that bloodlets the leech? Do we not.... No!! It is not in the doing; it is the being that betrays our tender and innocent souls and darkens them with an outrage of dogs! Do we not gnash our teeth against the intruders upon the iron gates of good governance? Are we not delayed of bark and light of bite? Are not the ramparts built against the demons already inside their impenetrable, cold stone?