Mr Wonderful and the racist

Once upon a time there was a lovely, fluffy do-gooder who despised all forms of racism.

Hanging out one day with his favourite folk, Mr Wonderful heard a really disgusting person who, let's face it, didn't deserve to live, say the kind of thing that such ghastly inbreds do the whole world over. Horrified, Mr Wonderful entered the fray.

"Is he a racist?" squeaked he, thrusting his abdomen towards the unspeakably foul Fascist in a really threatening, Julian Clary kind of way. And then, as he knew his 75-year-old mummy was holidaying with her Latin Lover in Bermuda, he upped his street cred with the neigbourhood posse, adding:

"Get him the f*** out!"

As the Nazi storm trooper foolishly attempted to stare down our hero just in front of his ultra-menacing babycham belly, Mr Wonderful bravely stood his ground, fists stuffed deep and ready-for-action (in a strangely unready-for-action kind of way) in his powder blue, Stella McCartney shorts. The neighbour posse bristled with excitement in the knowledge that a Hitler wannabe was about to get his.

"Get out of here," whispered the evil subhuman, visibly losing heart.

Sensing the we-all-love-Mr-Wonderful-he-really-is-one-of-us mood of the enriching diversity present, our hero instructed the bad guy, in no uncertain terms, to 'get out of here, yourself' just as John Wayne might have done if he'd been a girl.

At which point, something entirely untoward occurred.