One year. 100 articles. So we're having a Reader's Party. Come along to Upsidecrown.
You must reach this line to ride
7 December 2000
In the universe next to ours, Adolf Hitler was nine metres tall with a moustache like a sofa and when he invaded Poland the rest of the world turned round and said, "mate, just have it."
A gigantic Hitler. A crazy dictator with feet that could crush houses, fingers like pink whales flying through the sky, tethered at their tails. An enormous man, splashing through the English Channel, swatting the Battle of Britain out of the clouds, striding over the countryside.
And then to London, wading through the houses, throwing buses asunder, holding the tower of Big Ben, broken from its foundations, in both hands aloft, waving it in victory.
Would we not have thought that Ragnarok had come? Would we not have bowed before this almighty mammoth of a man?
So I guess what I'm saying is: size matters.
Enough with the platitudes already then. What would you rather hear: Size doesn't matter, or, Omigod. Small but beautiful formed, or, are those real?
And at a stroke I eliminate tiny things from my life. Ronnie Corbett: gone (that's a quarter century of comic history instantly improved. Fucking dwarf). Bees, wasps, hornets. Never again. Hah!
Sand. Yes, sand too. Sand is useless, and not just because it's small. It gets on everything and in everything (yes, even that). And it's uncomfortable to lie on. Beaches shall henceforth be covered in that rubber stuff used at children's playgrounds. And the sea made into a massive ballpool. Sand is banned. History.
Special dispensation can be made for builders. Or they can use icing sugar or something.
Belly buttons are next on my list. They're not cute, they get filled with belly jam. And then they start to ooze pus and muck -- how is that good? Unless yours makes pearls or something, like an oyster.
Alas along with my purge of tiny things will have to go chocolate buttons, Tic-Tacs, Altoids, jellybeans, Rolos, popping candy, shrimps and Fisherman's Friends (well, I'm not too worried about that one). But not to worry, because instead we'll have chocolate buttons the size of plates and you'll only need to buy one which will be cheaper, save us all money, and help the economy. Maybe.
In the new regime, small is out and big is the only legal size to be. Face it, we're going that way already. We can't help it, it's built into our brains. Hardcoded. For thousands of years.
Imagine, would two billion people worship Jesus if he'd been nailed to two twigs crossed over, six inches across? Bollocks they would. Jesus gets the fan mail because he went out high up and nobody else has copped it like that. We admire him for it. Who else has died actually a long way off the ground? Exactly.
I mean, before aeroplanes. And even when people die in 'planes it's generally because they're hitting the ground at terminal velocity. Stop being picky.
It'll be a grand new age for humanity. The only reason we pretend to be so nice about little things now is because some of our friends have tiny dicks. Dump them. Move on, get over it. They haven't got a place in the new world order.
Fact: People with small bodily parts lack the confidence necessary to take part in the twenty-first century.
So, are you with me? Do you dare take the lead? Have you had enough of your compact car, cramped apartment, funsize Mars bars? Throw them aside. Come build the Tower of Babylon and ascend to the Kingdom of Heaven. Grow another few inches and we'll be able to reach the stars.