Dale Sure is a satirist. That’s not normally a profession that needs to be explained. But Dale is a Twitter impersonator and one that is so extraordinarily talented and plausible he has made it onto the Somerset section of the BBC website. Life is tough in liberal 21st Century Britain for aspiring comedians who are up against Dick Emery repeats on Comedy Gold (cable) and the formidable Mrs Brown’s Boys. So, Dale – quick-witted that he is – thinks outside of the box. In the dog eat dog world that is British comedy, Dale does not hang around for breaks. Public-school-educated Dale hides his natural conservatism and uses Twitter to groom his burgeoning liberal audience, who he bewitches to the point where, in the suburban semis and Barratt homes of remain-voting England, they gulp back their post-referendum antidepressants then hang on his every consoling word. Dale is the character Otto English – Marmite personified – loved by those few remaining diehard Remoaners and detested by Brexiteers. Otto seems abrasive, über-liberal and an EU lickspittle, glorifying Brussels and lionising Strasbourg. Here, one of the Country Squires interrogates Dale and, instead of finding a complete Dunt, finds an ardent Brexiteer with an undying passion for Britain and a disdain for those last, querulous anti-Brexiters. Remainers who satirist Dale has hoodwinked all these months and who – doe-eyed in the unfolding grimness of their reality – look up to him as one of their own. Dale’s their rebel, he’s their saviour. Until they read this interview, of course, when they will realise he only ever pretended to be one of their true Remainer Canutes and actually feels heartfelt pity towards them.
So, Dale, after the success of the Jacob Rees-Mogg impersonation account, you decided to create Otto English to take the mick out of the Remoaner crowd?
Yes, I’d come to the end of the road with the Moggster account and I was looking around for a new target for my wicked satire. When I saw wailers like AC Grayling and Richard Dawkins throwing their toys out of the pram when they lost the EU referendum, the opportunity seemed just too good to miss. When low-brow morons like Gary Jug-Ears Lineker and David Super-Injunction Schneider piled in, I just knew that I had to join them to rifle the piss out of them too. It’s been a blast taking them in and making a mirror for their incessant grumbling and inanity.
So, you personally voted for Brexit?
Of course. The most obvious choice EVER! The EU laughs in the face of democracy, it’s flooding Europe with bloodthirsty immigrants and there are all kinds of losers on their payroll, like Nick Clegg and the Heselwhine. Screw that! I am as desperate as the next patriotic Brit to wipe out their cosy Brussels retirement fund and smash the unelected cabal of last hurrah Nazis pulling the strings from Berlin. My late father fought in World War II, you know. Not for the Huns to snaffle Europe on the sly through a fascist bureaucracy. Long live the nation state. Fuck the EU blancmange which stifles citizens’ culture and suffocates individualist creativity. If we’d stayed in the EU, we’d have eventually been swallowed up by the superstate and satirists like me would have been some of the first people to get arrested for wrongthink in a blue and yellow dystopian future.
You’ve taken in a load of gullible Remoaners with your daily, satirical anti-Brexit rants. And there are also plenty of Brexiteers who you’ve driven up the wall…
Oh, I know. Every time the Remuppet Ian Dunt retweets me I allow myself a Celebrations sweetie. I had Nicola Sturgeon retweet me once and for some reason I went and bought a Snickers. Marxist wombats like Ian Katz and that substance-acquiring knob-jockey James O’Brien follow me. When the daft bat Soubry retweets me, I always punch the air in Fabricantesque jubilation. Stop whining, Remoaners! You lost! Get over it! You’re like the football players chasing the ref down the tunnel after losing a cup match. It’s just so un-British and embarrassing! We’re not Bulgarians! What a sorry bunch of cowards and bad losers so many Remainers (not all) have become! I was taught as a child to shake the hand of one’s vanquishers, not to blow raspberries at them, let alone accuse them of cheating.
I am genuinely so sorry if I’ve upset Brexiteers and I just want them to know that well-pitched satire always comes at a cost, so your blood-boiling was worth it. You’ll always take in a few of your own with satire. I owe sincere apologies to Arron Banks and Nigel Farage, who I privately hero worship for the wonderful job they have done in waking the UK up to the obvious choice to leave. It’s just a shame Ken Clarke’s not a big Twitter user. I was hoping to draw other quislings in as well but many of the old guard Europhiles wouldn’t be seen dead mixing with the polloi on Twitter. Anyway, they are too busy re-jigging their retirement plans.
What would you do if you met Otto English in real life?
I’d tell him people are not of the calibre they used to be. Then I’d lamp him.
I see you have set up a satirical magazine called Pinprick? Why Pinprick?
That’s simple enough. It’s not that I’m hamster-hung. What I’ve found on the Remoaner inside is that most of the protagonists – especially the so-called progressives – rely on keyboard warrior trolls who have PINs for harassment from the police and are utter pricks. Pinprick therefore seemed a perfect name to prick and deflate their antics satirically and the site is booming, so I am obviously still something of a plonker magnet. I’ve actually attended Remainer resistance meetings in London and mingled with this brigade of woolly jumper train spotters, so I’m fully immersed in the anoraks’ tactics.
What types of people attend these Brexit “resistance” meetings? I’m intrigued!
Brexit resistance meetings are microcosms of hell on earth – like the Byline festival really. Ugly blokes mostly, the usual dangly earring brigade of birds in unhappy marriages who naturally affine with Bonnie Greer, and a few grannies in plimsolls. Librarians, computer geeks, church organists, French teachers – those kinds of also-rans. Quite a few inbreds. You obviously also get the seething Britain-haters, so there are plenty of Celts like the Scots Nats and IRA supporters as well as a sprinkling of seditious caliphate cranks who rock up in their pyjamas. I’m not kidding about the woolly jumpers though, it’s like they’ve all gone back in time and ransacked the M&S Winter Collection ’74. I went for a beer with a few of the resistance blokes after one meeting and out of the six males who sat with me five were dribbling virgins and one was married to some whiskered anti-materialist called Michelle who looked like Giant Haystack in drag and droned on about Tron. Don’t ever go to one. They spoil your week.
So, Dale, now that the cat is out of the bag on shouty Remoaner Otto English, what’s next – or rather – who’s next?
Well, after Jacob and Otto, I set up Rachel Swindon to annihilate the Momentum rabble from the inside. But Rachel has been a bit of a waste of time really, as the Corbynites have mush for brains and, frankly, if they can forgive Corbyn for getting on his knees to unzip Gerry Adams, they will forgive Rachel when I reveal her as a satirical creation. The sad gits hero-worship Rachel right now and I have made her despicable; even hinted that she is an account run by her benefits cheating husband who the police have done for malicious communications. Some you win, some you lose. What I have learnt with satire is that you need to pitch it at those who cerebrally qualify. People who actually think that socialism works, even when they can watch Zimbabwe and Venezuela burning live on Periscope, are just too dim to bother with in the first place.
Some of Otto’s most ardent followers are also the biggest acquirers of tinfoil, no?
Oh yes! I have the arch tin-foiler Peter Jukes following me, I have that New European crowd who, like Ben Bradshaw (no doubt he dreamt of a pleasant Brussels retirement after Exeter), have totally lost the plot and genuinely believe that Brexit was caused by an army of Russian bots. They are all really despising of Brexiteers and think we’re all thick when in a few years’ time the joke will be on their lack of usable grey matter. Then there are all the associated conspiracy theorists following and supporting me; they normally call themselves “investigative bloggers” or “truthtellers”, something along those lines. The 2+2=9 brigade. Attic dwellers who look like Sloth from The Goonies. And when I see sane, enlightened people – opponents of Otto like Old Holborn, Marcher Lord & David Vance – point out facts to these conspiraloons, I see them get suddenly terribly bitter and nasty. You get the likes of poisonous Mike Hind, who spent 18 years as a press release writer for CAP automotive – I mean, the real Galacticos of “journalism” – get stuck in. Hind is one of the bot conspiracists who claims to be an “investigative journo”, uses multiple troll accounts (some of which sadly communicate with each other) and will happily doxx opponents via his team of keyboard Sloths. It’s been genuinely difficult to sit back and watch these fartcatchers bully my ilk – Otto’s ideological opponents – and at times I have had to slip bits of information to good eggs on the Leave side who were bright enough to figure me out way back. As luck would have it, most of the time the worst Remoaners get spanked by the Brexiteers, who are far bolder, wiser and obviously more cocksure as they move forward on the wave of facts. It’s great to see British fighting spirit still exists in bucket loads: Brexiteers simply refuse to get bullied by anyone, let alone conspiraloon propagandists. I mean, think about it… why should Brexiteers get bullied by halfwits like Hind and Jukes when they’ve already despatched far worse in Osborne & Carney’s Project Fear and recurrently eviscerate jack boot Selmayr and that goofy pillock Verhofstadt?
Back to Brexit. Would you have Theresa May pay anything in terms of an exit bill?
Screw that for a laugh. I’d have the army clear out everything the British own from Strasbourg and Brussels then insist that the City puts up interest rates on all that capital the other EU members daily borrow from London until Juncker and his muppets bend over and take one for Her Majesty, while Jerusalem plays full blast on the EU Parliament’s loudspeaker system.
Final question, as I know you have a Lewisham Conservative Party meeting to attend in twenty minutes, how’s political satire doing in the UK in the twenty first century?
In some ways, jolly well. I mean look around you – there are socialists out there actually calling themselves progressives! There’s even a political party out there called the Liberal Democrats which is neither liberal nor democratic! The Left has never had a sense of humour but nowadays Labour naturally falls into the satirical trap – look at Diane Abacus Abbott who’s shagged the party leader and pretends she is capable of running a ministerial department; and that dire Educashion representative for Corbyn, Rayner, who’s always ranting on about how people should except people as they find them. Then there’s the yoof who turn to a bloke called Stormzy as their Yoda for deep political guidance and enlightenment – a rapper who studied for an apprenticeship in Leamington Spa and worked in quality assurance for two years at an oil refinery in Southampton. A comedy writer couldn’t make that kind of material up. I mean we’re not yet living at Brasseye peak standards in this country but we’re not doing so badly.
Thank you, Dale. The best of British with your future satirical creations.
Cheers. And Bottoms Up to a splendid Brexit. Please learn to forgive me, fellow Brexiteers.
Any Remoaners reading this confession might be inured to call The Samaritans. The number to call is 116123. God Bless You.