Parody Is Dead.

Yesterday I attempted to parody the commies, race baiters and luvvies in their unhinged denunciations of Boris Johnson. Unfortunately my attempt at lunacy is quite tame when compared to the real thing.

For instance I attempted to satirise the snobbery and disdain shown by Ken Livingstone backers towards suburban Londoners, but I couldn't come out with anything as pathetic as Will Self:

"If Johnson were elected? I'd feel that he had neither the acumen nor the gravitas to resist becoming the teddy bear of the 4x4-driving, Laura Ashley headscarf-wearing, inherently inegalitarian and snobbish denizens of Chelsea."

I thought that threatening to kill a puppy would send up the ridiculous moral blackmail that Kennites attempt, but Arabella Weir makes puppy killing look moderate:

"I will go on hunger strike and throw myself in front of the next horse at Ascot if he wins."

Everything I parodied is taken to even greater extremes, the repeated references to Eton and the Bullingdon Club, the attempt to link Boris with Bush, the scaremongering over race and religion, the hordes of b list celebs, the sense of entitlement. How can I possibly compete with this?

Via Stephen Pollard.