Son, never boast of the bird you have done.
Masters of the art of crime never serve
A scrap of time. They may shit on everyone.
They keep their noses clean. A fable says,
There was a crooked horse who kicked an ass
For being an ass, and down the line
He got stitched up by his mule. Here’s the moral:
Never disapprove, never harbour a scruple.
Cater to all tastes. One will help you rob
A bank-vault if you let him rape a little boy.
A ritual murder binds people together.
Where’s the chick as close as an accomplice?
Differentiate between being and appearance
And become as far as possible indistinguishable
From your mark. Love is not a problem. Love
Will find a way to provide you with an unassailable
Alibi. Robin Hood had it all wrong.
This article first appeared in the print edition of The Spectator magazine, dated 20 October 2012