To whit - Hewitt!
In exposing the purple cyclops of royalism, Kelvin Mckenzie of the Sun has unwittingly performed the working class a huge service. The carrot-headed royal exposing his rusty sheriff's badge should leave us in no doubt as to the venal carnality that runs through this inbred line.
Of course we should not be blinded by the majesty of a flaccid prince's penis and forget that the vile organ pumping these frankly shit images into our brains is that enemy of the working class par excellence - the Sun. While the Murdoch empire reels from the body blows of dark-arts scandals we should not allow the prince's pronounced tan-lines to distract us from the traitorous soon-to-be-liquidated scum who lay claim to the sanctity of the Fourth Estate merely so they can show Harry Hewitt's pasty white arse.
The phone, once a harmless tool of communication, has become used for an increasingly sinister purpose - to snoop on the details of people's private lives. While the further exposure of monarchical decadence is to be welcomed and greeted with joyful, righteous vicarious disgust, was it not Trotsky himself whose private correspondence was examined by Stalin in order to discredit him?
This week marks the assassination of Trotsky with an icepick in 1940, a task which would have been made this much easier would Stalin have simply have been able to phone Ramon Mercader on his mobile, or ask "Can I have the number of an icepick shop in Mexico" on 118118. A modern-day Stalin would not only be able to examine Trotsky's letters, but listen to his voicemails and recoil from the voice of true Leninism. To read his texts - "Militarisation of Labour - LOL." How much easier would the task of the traitors of Kronstadt have been if they had been able to text each other warnings of impending proletarian vengeance.
The inbox of Bukharin, however, would surely only have been of interest to those who wondered what form Bolshevik love poetry might take.
Not only must we guard against vicious Fleet Street hacks, but also the perversions of democratic centralism personified by Stalin. So instead of merely hacking phones, as the Murdochs have done, let us smash the obsolete Nokia 3210 of capitalism against the wall of proletarian wrath, brick on brick, and cast the iPhone of imperialist tyranny into the murky depths. The bread and circuses of Snake have for too long kept the working classes from the promised lands of Angry Birds.
The working class only needs one phone - the Xperia running Linux. Only open source software, inaccessible to those who have only trade union consciousness, is acceptable in the face of two competing capitalist behemoths. The expressions of righteous but nevertheless uncoordinated, ill-disciplined and misdirected anger organised by lumpen elements using the so-called "crackberry", must be avoided, as the revolution needs a leadership who can not only master Marxist theory but also master a confusing user interface.
Only this could ensure that true democratic centralism was maintained and prevent the spontaneity and lack of leadership, accountable or otherwise, which has unfortunately been a feature of so many recent "autonomous" uprisings. Indeed comrades, as one thinks of Harry's ginger sack sweatily defiling the baize that others have given to us one can only wonder how many honest toilers must forever fail to pot that crucial black because of the stain of royalist sweat throwing the arrow-straight cueing action off beam? And in a wider sense, are we not all cast off beam by royalist ballbaggery? Think upon it.
We may be amused as the dog of Murdochism savages the dignity (hah) of the royals. But make no mistake - this is the sixth form laughing at Sir. Forwards, comrades, to a new game of pool! The working classes will one day never lack 50ps and royalist scum will be forced to rack up. And yes, they will break first.
I've got one more bullet in my gun' - Jimmy Cliff