Berlusconi: Ultra violent

In his final column for the Onion Bag, Il Duce Silvio Berlusconi offers his own solutions to dealing with the Ultras in Italian Football.

For myself, the Ultras have always been loyal to me. I am one of the few people to have my own you see. "Forza Duce! Forza Duce!" they shout when they chair-lift me to the bathroom twice a day. "Forza Ultra" I reply as the struggle beneath their little biseps to hold me aloft. The problem grows worse as I enter my dotage.

Small hands

I control my ultras by breeding them in my own laboratory. Each one is exactly four foot and two inches tall. They are so funny with their tiny little pinkies. Veronica loves their little hands. Sometimes at night I hear her howling with laughter in her bedroom.

I dress them up in little Milan shirts that I have hand made in my sweatshop outside Mumbai. There, my genetic rejects work hard with the local children to make midget Milan tops for the markets in Kuala Lumpar. Oh yes, the Duce's finger knows many pies.

Society's to blame

Occassionally their can be trouble though. At times they like to leap up onto the arm of my chair to have their chin stroked. At times, the inner pixie in me likes to push them off. It pleasures me to watch them land on their feet. Haha, they always do. Except one time though when one of them landed on his hip and squealed like the cat I killed as a schoolboy.

"Are you alright Sheva?" I cried but it was too late. The wretched creature was bruised and tainted. I took out my service revolver and BANG... BANGBANGBANG! Heh heh. I am a terrible shot.

My army awaits

Thousands attended the funeral. Ultras from all over Italia came in solidarity for their fallen comrade. What a fine army they would make. And I, the Duce, would be their general. Veronica... where is my Patton DVD? I wish to watch myself.