Is Monckton beyond parody?
Derek Jones
Category: Monckton
Posted on: December 15, 2009 7:32 AM, by Tim Lambert
Gareth Renowden's latest post on Monckton is pretty funny, but how can
anyone compete with this?
Monckton said he had "never believed heterosexual HIV is a myth," but
insisted that the correct policy at start of any epidemic is to "isolate
all carriers immediately," a position he advocated in the 1980s on
HIV/AIDS. Unprompted, Monckton told us he is now "working on what may
prove to be a cure for HIV," but provided no further explanation or
comment.
(Via Brendan Demelle, who notes that Monckton is lying about calling some
protesters "Hitler Youth" despite video proof that he did.)
http://scienceblogs.com/deltoid/2009/12/is_monckton_beyond_parody.php
Something potty in the state of Denmark
by Gareth on December 15, 2009
Scr�tum! Where �re my b��ts? The Laird was having trouble with the Danish
accent he was affecting in an attempt to impress the natives. To the
wrinkled retainer�s large but withered ears it sounded as though he�d been
taking lessons from the Swedish Chef. Monckton�s exquisite English diction
was hovering somewhere over the Baltic being mangled by a madman with a
chopper. He was in dire need of a v�wel movement.
After the episode with Mycroft, all had been quiet on the climate front
for a few weeks. Monckton did some desultory work on his cure for AIDS and
shot a few pheasants from the security of the second-hand armoured car he
had acquired to protect himself from attacks by birds of prey, but the
Laird had recovered all of his normal confidence and poise following a few
long phone conversations with his American sponsors. He�d spent most of
the last week at Tannochbrae reading Danish history, and had been most
struck by tales of the Nazi occupation during World War 2.
The trip to Copenhagen was turning out to be rather more exciting than
Scrotum had expected, at least at this early stage. The Laird had been
summoned by his American sponsors to perform at another of their climate
meetings, and to be a general pain in the neck for the socialist
billionaire conspiracy to force humanity back to the Stone Age. The little
climate conference had passed quietly enough, with the exception of an
elderly scientist who had insisted that the seas weren�t rising, and had
taken to throwing salad forks at the audience when questioned by a
journalist. He�d chucked the contents of a large bag of wooden implements
at a Guardian writer (the Laird offering advice on range and elevation)
before the questioners made their excuses and left. Monckton had glided
over the incident in the blog provided for him by the Americans : �All was
calm, rational scientific discussion among the world�s leading climate
experts�, but he couldn�t avoid mentioning a salad fork.
The real fireworks came a day later, as Monckton began an address to a
packed meeting. The audience got up and started berating him. The Laird
was notably unfazed:
I used the old crowd-control trick of standing behind the Hitler Youth
and talking quietly. The microphones were right where I wanted them, so I
began reporting on that day�s progress in negotiating the world-government
agreement that, if it is passed at Copenhagen, will shut down the
economies and democracies of the West without affecting the climate in any
measurable way.
The six people left in the room after the rabble left were moved to tears
by the Laird�s eloquence, but that had the unfortunate effect of giving
him an excess of confidence. Scrotum had seen rather too many of
Monckton�s mad moments to be surprised, but when the Laird started
accusing everyone in Copenhagen under the age of 25 of being members of
the Hitler Youth it was obvious he was heading for trouble.
*****
Scrotum sniffed the air at the back of the hotel. The night was chilly,
but a gentle breeze was wafting scents of sm�rg�sbord delights, mainly
pickled herrings and remoulade sauce. The soft tak tak tak of Danes being
polite to each other as they passed in the street renewed the wrinkled
retainer�s faith in humanity, and in the giant wicker basket that had
arrived that morning from the USA, a very large golden eagle glared
balefully at the hand that was about to feed it scraps of liver.
�Aethon, my pretty, you�ll have work to do soon enough� Scrotum murmured.
The eagle cocked an ear, and if raptors could smile, there would have been
one on its bloodstained beak.
*****
As the UN conference staggered into its second week, the sheer weight of
the unscientific evidence being hurled by Monckton and his American allies
was beginning to have a visible effect. The Hitler Youth had sandbagged
their stand to ward off attacks by the Laird, who had disgraced himself by
giving Nazi salutes in their general direction and beating a young bearded
lad around the head with a rolled-up copy of the UK Independence Party
constitution. Only a swift intervention by the sprightly Fred Singer and
his personal security consultant, famed New Zealand kung-fu exponent Bryan
�British� Leyland, had prevented serious injury. Greenpeace operatives had
foregone their traditional conference attire � polar bear outfits � in
favour of suits and ties. Monckton�s sly ruse � walking up to shake hands,
only to push warm chewing gum into their fur � was costing them a fortune
in cleaning fees.
�I may be but one man against a global conspiracy� the Laird had told
Scrotum while dressing for dinner, �but I will stop the march of this neo-
Fascist movement, with its crude denigration of opponents, breaking-up of
meetings, taxpayer-funded propaganda at every street corner, and vast,
expensive Nuremberg Rallies such as that which is now taking place at the
Bella Centre.�
Scrotum blinked impassively.
*****
The highlight of the peer�s Copenhagen trip was to be a public rally
outside the Bella Centre. A crack team of German sceptics had converted a
minivan into a portable speaking platform. The nondescript van would be
parked in the street, the crowd would gather, eagerly looking forward to
the free rollmops and Aquavit laid on by the Scaife Foundation, and then
at an opportune moment � sun setting, TV crews arrived and filming � the
back of the van would crack open like a Kinder egg, and Monckton would
emerge on a modified lifting device (a deliberate parody of the moment in
Gore�s sci-fi horror movie when the politician is raised up to point to
the top of a giant graph). He would ascend into the night sky, his vibrant
prose amplified by a powerful Tannoy system, his face lit by the beams
from LED headlamp torches sported by the A team of sceptical scientists.
Lindzen had been training them for weeks, and their choreographed light
show was a Choi to behold.
All was going well. The crowd was gathering, the roll mops had been
delivered, and the Laird had taken up his position in the van. After
passing Monckton his pith helmet and Kevlar corset � he wouldn�t be seen
out of doors without them since that business with the eagle � Scrotum
scuttled away to a nearby street where a black van waited. It was the work
of mere moments to open the back doors and undo the leather straps on the
wicker cage. Aethon blinked in the street lights, and climbed onto
Scrotum�s leather gauntlet. The retainer fitted the titanium tips to the
eagle�s claws, raised his arm, and with a whispered �be gone, my pretty�
sent the great bird flapping into the night sky.
*****
Aethon climbed high above the rooftops of Hans Christian Anderson�s city,
and began to circle over the Bella Centre. He let out a piercing screech,
but no one in the busy streets below heard. Others did. From all round
Copenhagen, birds of prey began their final approach.
*****
Monckton�s great peroration was going mostly to plan. The van had cracked
open as it should, but he�d had to deliver a swift kick to one half when
it threatened to block his elevation. And who was the idiot who had turned
the headlamps green? Lindzen looked unperturbed, but Monckton was sure it
was sabotage by the bedwetters. He began to build towards his climax:
Those brave dissidents who have not yet had their meetings broken up
by groups of savage goons are more and more openly saying that the
nastiness that was National Socialism/Fascism/Communism now stalks the
world again, in a new and more terrible form. This time, it is global.
This time, leaders of once-democratic nations subscribe to its half-baked,
unscientific notions and are themselves increasingly intolerant of anyone
who dares to dissent.
The intolerance, of course, stems from the realization on the part of
those behind the �global warming� scam that it is entirely false. It is
always liars who have to shout loudest in the hope of temporarily
prevailing over the truth.
James Hansen, a fully-paid-up member of the new regime, has
notoriously called for anyone who disagrees with the new superstition to
be put on trial for �high crimes against humanity�. Now, crimes against
humanity are punishable by death, as Saddam Hussein discovered. So what
Hansen is asking for is the judicial murder of those of his fellow-
citizens who disagree with him � one of the unfailing hallmarks of Nazism
and Fascism everywhere.
Monckton�s voice cracked with emotion as he forced out the words. He was
approaching his closing remarks, and another light, this time from behind
lit him up like a fat angel on the top of a leafless Christmas tree. The
Laird paused, a little nervous. This wasn�t in the plan. Still, he must
keep going.
Aethon�s claws struck him in the middle of his back, and broke through the
Kevlar to his skin. Monckton screamed. Two more eagles grasped each
shoulder, and a fifth grasped to the top of his helmet. He screamed again.
The crowd gasped. Great wings flapped. Monckton�s vain attempts to hold on
to his speaking platform were defeated by sparrow hawks lacerating his
fingers. He slowly lifted into the starry sky, lit by the quivering beams
provided by the cream of shocked (and appalled) sceptical science, his
arms flapping ineffectively.
Mycroft turned to Scrotum. �Will they be gentle with him?�
Scrotum smiled. �No.
�
Roger Dewhurst
> Is Monckton beyond parody?
>
> Category: Monckton
> Posted on: December 15, 2009 7:32 AM, by Tim Lambert
>
> Gareth Renowden's latest post on Monckton is pretty funny, but how can
> anyone compete with this?
Renowden has a vested interest in selling his book on global warming.
R