In or out

Sir—Permit me to explain to you. I am violently opposed to the overweening supercilious outlook of these same 'outies'. I have been assured (in confidence, naturally) that, owing to a biological superiority these 'humbugs' have a secret awareness (or spiritual revelation) of being the master race. A pity nobody examined Hitler's navel!

Notice that I utter the term 'humbug'. For although this is a matter from which no elements of factual certitude are able to be elicited, due in the main to the peculiarly intuitive nature of the knowledge, I am prepared to remark that their claim appears to be a trifle mythical.

Look at me, for instance. I am intelligent, ambitious, the most popular student at the university, witty, vivacious, charming, sexy, and extraordinarily beautiful.

Yet despite all claims to the contrary I am an 'inie'. If this humble statement surpasses your credulity. I offer dirty postcards of my navel to all and sundry at the ridiculous price of $1.50 each.

Even the pretension of the outies to a second brain hidden in the darker recesses of their pivotal point (God bless my mother!) have neither been scientifically proven, nor borne out in fact. All significant people (see supra) appear to be inies. Simon is an inie. Even Jesus Christ was in all probability an inie.

Naturally outies will not accept inies in awful wedlock (freshers beware!) and are quite unscrupulous concerning sex. If they do happen to fall in love beneath their navel they insist on an operation before entering the bonds of holy lust.

Of course inies do not have such scruples, though I would not let my daughter marry one of the bastards. She went out with one once, called Wally, who was an excellent friend of mine.

However as soon as I, by cunning and devious contrivance, was driven to the conclusion that he was an outie I realised that he was only associating with my kind for motives of person prestige. He is no longer my chum.

J. S. Hales.