US spy chief Clapper defends Prism and phone surveillance

[Paul Rigby]

A moving email-plea from Sir Herbert Tooth, the legendarily outspoken Tory grandee & CEO of the South East Asian Sex Tool Corporation Inc, has today gone viral after being leaked by unidentified West Country sources.

Tooth's plea was addressed, it should be noted, presumably in a fit of absent-mindedness, to Sir Reginald Pike-Darkness, his fellow-Old Harrovian (and former fag), in the mistaken belief that the latter remained a figure of influence at the Etonian court of Saints David and Gideon. In fact, Pike-Darkness' eminence grise role during the Major years was abruptly terminated following his arrest at Heathrow airport while in possession of what he mistakenly believed were "healing powders with an aphrodisiac quality". A Customs Official subsequently commented that the substance in question would unquestionably "add Life" to any social gathering.

Dear Reggie,

I have been violated & your urgent assistance is solicited.

I learned of this appalling case of accurate identification from an inebriated Orangeman, who sidled up to my faithful amanuensis, Ms. Lola Ferrari, in the course of Elton John's tasteful anti-Sochi fund-raiser last Saturday the one in support of Russkie lesbos and sundry other unlikely current heroes of the FO & Foggy Bottom - to deliver himself of an indecent proposal, a terrible revelation, and technicolour yawn, all in surprisingly rapid succession.

According to the lambeg-beater, he was returning to Stormont-on-the-Thames after a secondment to the electronic knicker-sniffers in Cheltenham, where he found himself burnishing his highly prized computer skills by watching endless hours of Yahoo Webcam footage. If the eternally fragrant Ms. F. didn't play ball, he intimated shortly before expiring, face down, in the fairy cakes, the highlights of your correspondent's weekly transatlantic broadcasts to Ms. Alabama 1964 would be leaked to a malleable blogger.

Intrigued, my favourite typist inquired, most demurely, what it was her venerable employer was supposed to have done. Ask him about his alter-ego, "Major Stroker," came the somewhat cryptic reply. The intrepid Ferrari pressed again. Yes, but what's he supposed to have actually done? "Waved his Old Man at a geriatric sleeping peacefully in her rest home," came the reply.

I shan't dignify this vile farrago with a detailed exposition of the facts, save to note that Emmy-Lou Wartsheimer was Ms. Oklahoma in 1965; does not reside in any home save her own; remains in admirably good trim, thanks, in large measure, to her regular infusions of foetal tissue & botox; and that my nom-de-porn is, in fact, Lieutenant Stroker, an error so major as to require the squiffy securocrat's instant dismissal. If an eminent Englishman cannot enjoy a rank of choice within the walls of his own castle, things have come to a pretty pass.

More seriously still, isn't the whole point of the spy business is to keep the real enemy within under the gimlet-eye of suitable public schoolmen? You know, trade unionists, social workers, university professors, that sort of riff-raff. Have the knicker-sniffers lost all sense of decency, direction & purpose?

I want the footage back, uncopied, of course, but I may need something to trade with. Can you give your contacts at the Charlatans a tinkle and extract some juicy morsels on a senior knicker-sniffer or two? That Prime chap used to work there, so it's not as if they don't have form. A sheep-worrier would be nice, a Saville even better. Do your worst, Reggie, and dig for victory! The share price of SEASTC, in which you retain a significant stake, I remind you, depends on upon it.

Tooth