BEWARE – THIS CONTENT HAS BEEN BANNED!

Well – Guess what, folks? You are about to read something that has reached the greatest accolade that any sort of published work can ever accrue in my humble opinion: it has been banned!

Why do I say that?

Because banned books always sell far more copies than those that haven’t been – fact of life!

This is what Facebook – in its infinite wisdom – told me very shortly after I had published Episode 38:

As you have just seen, I initially personally considered the ban by the social media Colossus to be a real achievement in at least one sense: if some outlet for international numskulls like Faceflannel has banned it, I must have been getting something right somewhere – surely!

I realise now, though, that such an emotional and frankly immature belief on my behalf that this was the case is absolutely and totally wrong, Wrong, WRONG!!! – and I need to thank Farcebook for this.

Having had time to carefully consider this unexpected and very alarming development in this Saga ever since, I feel the need to react to it in a manner befitting of a man who has been trained to Doctorate level to objectively explore, evaluate and then balance the pros and cons of any dispute and come to a sober and wholly impartial judgement which I intend to impart in a mature and dignified manner at the end of this short piece.

I now realise that what I have been writing so far is actually nothing more or less than a dangerous and totally irresponsible call for insurrection on a vast scale to the downtrodden people of certain parts of India against their elected government. I thought it was a rather less than serious parody of the goings-on at a certain un-named football club – but what do I know?

I’m ashamed of myself now to be honest and owe a debt to Farcebook and their enforcers – the Facestapo –for belatedly persuading me to come to my senses. Setting fire to the local Town Hall here in England might be totally understandable given the raging debate of whether a crushed carton of fruit juice should be put in the Red or the Yellow bin. But calling for violent widespread revolution in Khalistan or the Punjab – where the recycling collections have never been a problem – is on another scale altogether, isn’t it?

I cringe to think that – for even one moment – I once even questioned that the A.I. Bots of a faceless American multinational social media giant knew better than I did the true purpose of my scribblings as the mere author of the Saga you are reading.

(Or failing to read if you happen to be in Andhrar Pradesh or Odisha for example – or elsewhere in India at the moment.)

Once I had been banned, I automatically assumed it was because words like `Khalistan’; `AK-47’ and `terrorists’ have all appeared in this story so far. I imagined that they had been immediately underlined in Red by Artificial Intelligence tools used by the geniuses at Farcebook. I then assumed – as if such a thing could ever happen – that all the Bells and Whistles which would be triggered by this sort of Red Alert would have immediately have gone off at Zuckerberg/Meta headquarters too.

But as a moment of doubt that I might have been right still lingers – let’s just be silent for a moment now – and listen.

After all, I’ve just gone and used every one of those key words all over again.

I’d swear I can hear a whistle blowing far, far away at this moment – can’t you?

(But is it possible to be banned twice by Farcebook anyway? If you’re not sure – try asking it. And very good luck to you…)

Perhaps the most serious mistake I made – before I knew any better – was to assume that any genuinely `intelligent’ A.I. system would actually seek to understand the context in which the words I had caused such offence with were used. But I also shamefully suspected that the cheap and cheerful junk used by Farcebook isn’t sophisticated enough to do this. The rubbish they use – I thought in my total ignorance – is basically little more advanced than a Spell-Check program: it just identifies the words themselves.

But the one Mr Zuckerberg and his clever pals use is obviously much smarter than that.

It also baulks at these very provocative and dangerous words. And then bans any author careless – or stupid – enough to use them in the first place – regardless!

Let’s face it – what could be more reasonable?

So I must apologise profusely to my mass readership on the Indian subcontinent for this lapse in judgement on my part.

(Not that they can read this apology anymore – but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?…)

I know that all of them – both Dilip and his sister Saanvi in Calcutta – will be utterly devastated by the banning order.

I’m sorry. I truly am. I am even more sorry for having had the temerity to guess why this ban has been imposed by Farcebook.

Following a (very) early morning visit from the Facestapo earlier, though, I now accept of my own free will – and without even any suggestion that any threats to my own welfare or that of my family were ever made – that of course I don’t have any right to know why this ban has actually happened.

Why should I?

I was once lucky enough to study political philosophy at university. Some of the concepts I came across have troubled me ever since. So I am really indebted to the natural philosophers – the current internet Gurus – for relieving me of at least one of these moral and ethical problems as applied to the real world.

Why should the term `natural justice’ matter when you’ve got six zillion billion gazillion dollars in the bank? In these circumstances, it’s surely only natural that justice isn’t important at all when you are faced with other people who don’t, isn’t it?

(Makes perfect sense when you come to think of it, doesn’t it? My ideals about some sort of equity as a starting-point for morality clearly marks me down as the Dinosaur I obviously am. You won’t find modern thinkers – such as the lawyers representing Manchester City – troubled by such out-dated and probably bourgeois thoughts, will you?)

However, at the risk of potentially sounding like the main character in Franz Kafka’s The Trial (who never actually know what he has been accused of), I realise that my expectations of any sort of right of appeal against my Farcebook Banning Order is a totally childish fantasy as well.

So thank you to the Father of the internet and the acolytes of the surely saintly woman who must have been chosen by some sort of god somewhere to give birth to him – the MotherZuckers of the Facestapo – for setting me straight.

I totally accept now that in the Brave News World Our Great Leader and his fellow fabulously rich American Geeks and Nerds are currently creating, things like accountability or any need to justify anything they choose to do to anyone else are irrelevant, childish and more than anything else, old-fashioned fancies.

To paraphrase a Beatles’ song of yore; these days:

All You Need Is A.I.

(And loads of moolah…) Having said all that, though, I must state anew my thanks for the MotherZuckers for making sure that my Indian friends will no longer be subjected to what actually is (even though I was too stupid to realise this when I wrote it) a subversive call to arms.

Unless they pick-up the link from my X account of course…

(Damn! – shouldn’t have told them that! As Freddy F Fazackerley would say himself: “Forget about Big Brother: a MotherZucker is what you need to worry about these days!” – and he should know!…)

So for those who still can: please try and enjoy the next episode.

(I won’t be able to. I’m now fearful that this Saga might be banned in other places as well as India because of what I might have so carelessly written in it so far.

So I would like to clarify that my previous totally accidental reference to a Republican grouping in the North of Ireland when I was actually meaning my Auntie Ira who lives in Antrim might be totally misconstrued by the MotherZuckers’ so very helpful internet Bots.

Oh  – and if I equally inadvertently named a Province in Ireland which has been a troubled place that has caused pain to many people for countless decades, I would like to assure the MotherZuckers and their A.I. virtual Creatures that I was actually referring to the noun Ulcer and not anywhere in the real world with a vaguely similar name. I mean – who could dispute that the word `Ulcer’ means torment and defines a troublesome thing that causes pain and suffering on a vast scale?

Did I manage to finish that in time before the A.I. Bots of Facefarce set about doing what they do again?

So – to return to how we started  – it’s time to soberly consider all the ins and outs about being banned in a modern media age and pronounce my considered opinion about what has happened to me at least in a suitably mature and objective manner. And it is:

Up Yours, MotherZuckers!…

Part Thirty-Nine of the Sensational Shrimpleton Saga: Dirty Work at the Bugle…

Last time, we found the mysterious Khalistan Warriors and their most saleable asset – the simply adorable international superstar Simran – not too far away from Cumberside Island on the luxury – and absolutely huge – yacht owned by Clan boss Ranjit Singh Chopra.

We now return to Cumberside Island some time earlier to find the editor of the local newspaper with not just one but two potential scoops of undeniably great national significance on his hands…

`Fearless’ Freddy Fazackerley was in a bit of a quandary as he sat in his editorial office/bedroom in his mother’s house and pondered the vagaries of life itself.

Weeks; months – even years rolled by and, to be perfectly honest – although this was something that young Freddy made a point of avoiding like the plague normally – nothing worth mentioning on Cumberside Island or the World in general happened that truly merited  any space in his unique newspaper. That’s why he constantly made stuff up.

But today, he had two stories to deal with, both of potentially hugely significant interest to the sort of people who read his publication on-line in particular.

The first one of these potential scoops had actually been sent to him by one of these subscribers; the sort of person who, as local pub Landlord Amos De Rowlocks once told us all, believes that the Earth is flat and that dinosaurs haven’t really died out.

But in the increasingly Artificial Intelligence-driven world we all live in, this story had a real relevance to everybody as far as trust and accuracy and honesty were concerned – particularly in the broadcast media.

Could we really believe that a fake Orange Man in Washington DC had upset other authentic Orangemen in Ulster –sorry – Ulcer by saying he wanted a United Ireland ?

That the Isle of Man had secretly developed its own Nuclear Deterrent?

Or Iceland had initiated its own invasion of the United Kingdom mainland by the simple expedient of introducing shock troops through the branches of what seemed to be an innocuous frozen food outlet by the power-mad politicians in Reykjavik with a plan for Global Domination with a Viking Revival?

Could we really believe any of these things if it turned out that the developing queue eastbound at Simister Island on the M60 didn’t really exist and was actually an example of `fake news’ in action?

To be honest, Fearless Freddy Fazackerley didn’t really know what Simister Island or the M60 actually was, having never left the safety of Cumberside Island in his entire life. (Which was not the best track record for anyone aspiring at one point in their lives to become a Foreign Correspondent, I grant you.)

He thought that the place referred to was actually called `Sinister’ Island for a start and could be found on some forgotten ocean surrounded by mythical sea creatures and threatened by Orcs, Trolls and other nightmare monsters in Middle Earth – or perhaps near Brighouse or some other diabolical place which immediately brought similar sinister thoughts to mind.

But every time he heard a woman with a particularly sexy voice mention this place on the traffic reports on a national BBC News & Sport station, he was rapt.

“Orna” was all he knew about her: that was what she was called, apparently.

But now Freddy had information from one of his subscribers that Orna wasn’t actually real.

She was an A.I. Bot which had been designed by the Beeb to mislead the unwary – men in particular – to sound like the sort of woman everybody would like to go for a drink with:

`Orna’ was confident; authoritative; intelligent but – above all – desirable!

But once he read all the evidence his subscriber had submitted to support this theory, nay, fact, Freddy cursed himself – and all men – for being so gullible.

Of course Orna wasn’t real!

For a start, she was obviously far more knowledgeable and brighter than the overwhelming bulk of her co-presenters, who presumable were real!

She had genuine personality into the bargain. How many humans who spouted endless rubbish live on air over and over again did?

Secondly, she seemed to be available every moment of every single day: mornings, night and noon!

Real people weren’t: they needed things like breaks and holidays! They got unwell and needed days off too. Orna didn’t though.

But the real clincher was: she never got anything wrong!

Freddy was actually sad to realise the way he had been misled in this way for so many years.

When Orna mentioned `Sinister’ Island or the clockwise (it had to be `clockwise’ or it didn’t work) the clockwise queue developing on the M25 Orbital motorway Junction Ten at the Wisley Interchange – or, absolutely best of all – delays at Rainhill Stoops on the M62 westbound due to a tyre-change for an HGV – it acted like an aphrodisiac as far as he was concerned.

Who needed Viagra? – well, Freddy didn’t for a start!

Orna was just unfeasibly sexy – but what else would you expect of something designed to grab listeners’ attention all over the land? `Orna’, after all, was just an acronym.

As Freddy’s correspondent had insisted, this single sad fact alone confirmed that his theory about this usage of A.I. in the real world was correct.

Think about it yourself – as Freddy would implore you to – for one moment.

How many people do you know called Orna?

Has Mr Fazackerley got a point?

Of course he hasn’t – this is just utterly baseless speculation by a fantasist of the sort that powers the entire Social Media aspect of the World Wide Web and…

Sorry? I’m getting a bit preachy, am I?

Ok – you edit it then: that’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it?

Ed: A.I. takes over at this point:

`Orna’ is just a shortened form of the Bot’s full title:

Oral National Automotive Interface…

Thankyou, A.I..

The world has a right to know this, as I’m sure we would all agree.

(My Editor certainly does – and he has just written the last sentence into the bargain…)

Where were we?

Oh – something else had happened today in far-away Manchester that would mean that the usual print-run of Freddy’s Shrimpleton Bugle would not suffice to satisfy all the islanders who would want to read about it, even without any separate mention of Oral National Automotive Interfaces.

And – before we go any further – this story didn’t begin and end at the Emirates Stadium as so many have in recent times.

(Besides which, Freddy knew for certain that the current scandal which had engulfed Manchester City was nothing more or less than a joint conspiracy between Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal and the Kremlin to undermine their most successful rival of recent years. What exactly the Kremlin had to do with it – other than perhaps always supporting the Reds – I’m not entirely sure but Freddy F Fazackerley was absolutely insistent that this story was a blatant example of truly false news.)

However, the really scandalous tale which had been brought to his attention most definitely wasn’t false…

Freddy knew that his paper would have to be re-printed even with this single story alone, so news-worthy was it all on its own. The first run would sell-out – and possibly the second one too.

Which would require at least one new ink cartridge in his Mother’s printer…

The editor of the Shrimpleton Bugle had – at last – discovered a genuine story in the real would which had broken and directly involved the island. His editorial genius told him, furthermore, that this scoop was of genuine universal newsworthiness.

On the surface, it might appear to be so far-fetched and extraordinary that – even if Freddy had applied the deepest depths of his own wild imagination; his innate ability to exaggerate things and his own natural tendency towards hyperbole – he wouldn’t be able to imagine the details, let alone invent them…

“This is what editors are paid the Big Bucks for, lad!” he told himself when faced with the dilemma of which of these two subjects – Orna or the Manchester/Cumberside Island scandal – he should go with.

So – using the time-honoured tradition in which he had always decided tricky choices such as this – the pros and cons of potential reader engagement; objective newsworthiness; commercial spin-offs; public service etc etc etc – he tossed a coin.

“Tails!”

So the Manchester/Cumberside Island story it was, then!

This was Freddy’s thinking about it:

How many football clubs were there in England? God alone knew – but lots and lots of them: huge ones; lesser ones; small ones; tiddlers.

So what were the chances of Shrimpleton Town AFC ever hitting the national headlines in a way that his own beloved Leeds United and even other even more internationally more saleable clubs like Liverpool or Arsenal – with all due respect to the team that plays at Elland Road – would never do? About the same chances that the Shrimpies would ever win the English Premiership: none whatsoever…

But as he sharpened his Electric Pencil and prepared a Special Edition of the Bugle, Shrimpleton Town AFC was so famous that even the BBC; ITN and Sky News were running articles about it.

The current Labour government in London had promised some time ago to create a Football Regulator once they achieved power. They had looked at scandals involving dodgy owners at clubs such as Bury, Darlington, Macclesfield and Morecambe and decided that the body supposed to regulate these clubs – the English Football League (EFL) simply wasn’t doing so.

Too many football league clubs over on the mainland had lost their status – or gone out of business altogether – because of the EFL’s inability (or perhaps lack of desire) to regulate rogue owners.

So a new organisation called Football’s Independent Regulator (FIR) had been established in Manchester and given a simple remit: seek out and remove the crooks and conmen who had inveigled their way into The Beautiful Game in England and Wales.

Strangely, the EFL wasn’t immediately abolished – and some of their leading lights over the years prosecuted – as a result of their enquiries.

Setting that to one side, though, the tough stance that the brand-new state sponsored organisation’s intentions was reflected in its corporate slogan:

“Taking a FIRm Hand with Those Who Would Bite It!”

The FIR hadn’t been in existence for long but today, they had made their first-ever ruling about activities they were concerned about which involved two named directors of a football club within their remit.

This is what Football’s Independent Regulator had published on-line earlier in the day:

“WARNING NOTICE

FAILURE TO COMPLY WITH A REQUEST FOR INFORMATION ISSUED UNDER SECTION 65 OF THE FOOTBALL GOVERNANCE ACT 2025

Introduction

1. This is a Warning Notice issued under section 76 of the Football Governance Act 2025 (the “Act”). It explains the action that Football’s Independent Regulator (the “FIR”) is minded to take against the following persons (together the “Respondents”):

a. Shrimpleton Town Football Club Limited (the “Club”);

b. Mr. Ranjit Singh Chopra (as an owner of the Club);

c. Dr. Baban Singh Chopra (as an owner of the Club, and together with Mr. Ranjit Singh Chopra, the “Owners”).

2. For the reasons set out in further detail below, the FIR considers that each of the Respondents has breached information requirements imposed upon them without reasonable excuse.

3. In accordance with section 75 and Schedule 9 of the Act, the FIR is therefore minded to issue a censure statement against each of the Respondents.

4. Given the factual background described below (in particular that each of the Respondents failed to respond to aspects of the same information request), the FIR has issued this combined Warning Notice to each of the Respondents. For the purposes of allowing each of the Respondents to understand the FIR’s concerns relating to their specific conduct, this Warning Notice distinguishes between them where appropriate. If any of the Respondents intends to make representations regarding the proposed sanction, they may do so by the procedure set out further below. The three Respondents should consider the FIR’s concerns and whether they wish to make representations by reference to their individual conduct and circumstances. The FIR will have regard to any such representations before making a final determination on the potential breach and the proposed sanction for each Respondent, further to section 76(4) of the Act.”

“By ‘eck!” thought Freddy, “That’s a bit dry!”

So he jazzed it up a bit:

KHALISTAN WARRIORS BRING SHAME TO THE ISLAND!

SHRIMPLETON TOWN AFC: INTERNATIONAL PARIAHS!

“IT’S NOT FIR!” – FIRST REACTION FROM THE CLUB.

To the everlasting shame of all Cumbersiders, Shrimpleton Town AFC has become the first football club in history ever to be issued with an Official Warning – a Yellow Card if you will – by the new regulator in Manchester.

The initial response by the owner of the club – and leader of the Khalistan Warriors, Ranjit Singh Chopra – was `It’s not fir!”

Unfortunately for him it is FIR, or Football’s Independent Regulator as it is officially known. You can’t mess with these people because they have the power to fine; dock points or ultimately revoke the Operating License of any football club operating anywhere in the British Isles.

So the Shrimpies are in deep doo-doo. This is how they responded to the latest scandal to beset the troubled club on their website:

“Shrimpleton Town Football Club and its two directors acknowledge the warning notice issued by Football’s Independent Regulator (“FIR”).

Whilst the Club and its owners can confirm that they fully support and respect the regulator’s oversight of the football industry, they are disappointed by the decision to issue this warning notice, particularly in light of the extensive cooperation, transparency and engagement demonstrated by both the Club and its directors throughout the regulatory process.

The Club and its owners strongly dispute that a warning notice is justified in the circumstances. They consider that insufficient weight has been given to the significant mitigating factors, the unprecedented operational challenges inherited following the acquisition of the Club and the considerable efforts made to work constructively with the FIR at every stage.

Notwithstanding that this alleged breach is at the FIR’s lowest level of seriousness, the Club and its directors are taking legal advice and will submit detailed representations within the 14-day period prescribed by the FIR. They remain confident that those representations will demonstrate why no further regulatory action is warranted.

So the FIR can shove their Warning Notice where the sun doesn’t shine! The Khalistan Warriors are accountable to nobody except God, whose name does not appear among the list of two Executive Leaders or seven non-Executive Directors who are in charge of this bunch of do-gooders and nosey-parkers. We know where these people live. We also know where their children go to school. So be warned.

Sat Sri Akal: Truth is Eternal.”

Unusually for Freddy, he didn’t just rush to publish this version of the truth, as he would do normally. For once, he actually tried to substantiate his own story by contacting the Khalistan Warriors directly for comment.

And was astonished by the response he received. Ranjit Singh Chopra himself immediately offered to speak to him directly. He also offered Freddy a thousand pounds not to publish the story. He suggested a phone call in the first instance – and provided a number which Fearless Freddy immediately rang.

A long conversation ensued. During it, FFF’s phone pinged. Freddy looked at the screen as Chopper continued to speak to him. As promised, one thousand English pounds had just arrived in Mr Fazackerley’s current account. And more would appear if he would do just one more thing for Mr Chopra. Something that involved another article about the football club – one which would be a little more, shall we say, favourable to the ownership…

Freddy duly complied. Unfortunately for him, though, certain avid readers of the Shrimpleton Bugle were far from happy about what he published – and intended to do something about it, quite urgently…

What was it?

Keep reading The Sensational Shrimpleton Saga to find out – assuming that it hasn’t been banned altogether of course!