Iron balls

How bloody clever of you to perceive a plot where none exists. Salient, swathed in mystic robes, gazes deep into the smokey orb and wet not industry but sinister (nevertheless right wing) plots to subvert the peasant economy.

I presume these spiked balls, so cunningly conjured up—by the way has Comrade Editor ever heard of enuendo? Ah, yes. hese balls, I presume, are destined for a communist enemy, which, unless statistics lie, are at present, with fiendish delight end an inordinate lack of scruples, bumping off New Zealand soldiery.

I remain, sir, without a doubt, your local C.I.A. agent.