The Prophetling, the motorbike and his first brush with politics

The Little Prophet grew up and became the Prophetling. Between wheelies on his moped and the odd seized engine...

by The Prophet — 2026-01-15

Context

The Prophetling's teenage years fell in late-1970s Italy, the so-called Years of Lead, when far-left and far-right militants fought in the streets and political shootings and bombings were in the news every week. The Movimento Sociale Italiano was the party that carried on the legacy of Mussolini's fascism.

1 The Little Prophet grew up and became the Prophetling.

2 Between wheelies on his permanently broken moped and the odd seized engine accompanied by very intense adorations, his knowledge evolved.

3 So did the number of subjects he had to resit in September.

4 Although he had serious trouble tuning the carburettor, he noticed that everyone around him was very taken with “politics”.

5 Everyone wanted to change the world, while the Prophetling was too busy changing his carburettor.

6 Even as a little boy the Prophetling had been very sensitive to sphere-busting, and all this “changing the world” sounded to him a bit like going around busting other people's balls to force them to change.

7 Not yet fully Enlightened by Anubis, the Prophetling was very ignorant, but he was already on the right road of not busting anyone's balls, which he would later discover to be the most important precept of all.

8 In any case, there was no staying out of “politics”.

9 One day at the pub he found himself at a table with a certain Tom, who said that in a just world the weakest should be helped.

10 The Prophetling found all these observations very reasonable.

11 The Prophetling had always been very committed to defending others when someone attacked them; he cared about his neighbour, so all these demands seemed sacrosanct to him.

12 So he asked what could be done to build a “good” world.

13 Tom replied that it was simple: you just tax the “rich” and give the money to the poor.

14 Even as a little boy the Prophetling had never had a good feeling about the word “tax”, and he decided to seize the chance of a conversation to understand the thing better:

15 “You're telling me that whoever doesn't have money takes it from whoever does... but what if the ones who have it need it, or don't want to give it?”

16 “Simple!” replied Tom: “If someone won't hand over the money, you put him in jail.”

17 “And who puts him in jail? Who attacks him?” asked the Prophetling, very puzzled.

18 “The State!” replied Tom.

19 The image of the Great Dog God immediately filled the Prophetling's little head.

20 “So in a ‘just’ world you have to use violence?

21 And who decides how and when to use violence?”

22 “The State!” replied Tom.

23 “So this Mr State is good, but he attacks people? What the fuck? What just thing can you build with aggression?” asked the Prophetling.

24 The Prophetling would later work out that every obligation imposed by force, or by the threat of the State's force, is a form of aggression, even when it's called duty, law or the collective interest.

25 Fortunately, Anubistic adorations rose into the air along with a bit of a racket, signalling a brawl in progress, and so the chat ended.

26 Some time later the Prophetling found out that the man was an activist of the “Socialist Party”.

27 Hmm...

28 The price of moped fuel kept going up, and the Prophetling, having already worked out whose fault it was, offered up a grand Dog-Godly adoration to Mr State every time he filled the tank.

29 One evening he found himself at a table with a certain Dick, who said he was with the Movimento Sociale.

30 On top of the same reasonable things Tom had said, Dick said that people don't understand a fucking thing, so you need someone to tell them what to do.

31 If a person didn't do what he was told, he was to end up in jail, once again courtesy of Mr State.

32 Everything had to rest on “God, Fatherland and Family”.

33 The Prophetling often hallowed his Dog God, and he was very committed to defending his fatherland, which was his gang and his neighbourhood, so he found the idea sound, only to discover that the God was whichever one they said, and the fatherland was the patch of land their army held by violence.

34 “Dog God almighty,” thought the Prophetling, “these people who do politics talk about nothing but violence!”

35 He later found out that Dick was a “fascist”.

36 Over time the Prophetling worked out a very personal definition of “socialist”: he used it for anyone who thought it legitimate to use Mr State's force against somebody else.

37 Which is why they all looked like socialists to him, even when they insulted each other as fascists, communists, liberals, conservatives or any other name.

38 But he reached full political enlightenment one evening, chatting with a certain Harry who was singing the praises of real Soviet “socialism”.

39 He said the same nice things as the others, but he said that to have a just world you had to use violence against everyone so that nobody had anything any more.

40 The violence was carried out by the Party.

41 “Those ones wanted my marbles and this one wants my moped,” thought the Prophetling, very worried.

42 “But what if I wanted to keep my moped and leave?” asked the Prophetling.

43 “Nobody leaves. If anyone tries, you kill him so the others learn!” replied Harry.

44 The Prophetling pictured himself on foot inside an enormous prison, watching a “party boss” ride past on his moped, pleased as punch, and he was left more than a little perplexed.

45 He was already thinking about how to load all his worldly goods onto the moped and make a run for it.

46 At the end of all this brooding he came out with: “And what if I managed to escape across the mountains on my dirt bike?” Harry replied that in that case the Party would slaughter your whole family.

47 Perplexity turned into terror.

48 Then Harry said that religions had to be abolished, priests killed, and the only thing to believe in was the Party.

49 The Prophetling had his Dog God and couldn't see why he should believe in the God Party.

50 The Prophetling busted his ass fixing his moped, and all these people spent their time looking for the “right way” to delegate someone to use violence to steal it from him.

51 Wouldn't it be quicker for them to bust their own asses fixing their own mopeds? Meh... anyway, this Harry said he was a “communist”.

52 Meanwhile, round the neighbourhood, people were stabbing each other in a friendly sort of way, some were taking playful potshots at one another, and the Prophetling was always on the front line trying to keep a bit of peace.

53 Still, that was just kids being kids.

54 What really amazed the Prophetling, on the other hand, was the huge mess that broke out for “political reasons”.

55 The socialists were constantly beating each other up, when they weren't beating up the Police.

56 The Police worked for Mr State, and the socialists all want Mr State, so why the fuck are they fighting the Police?

57 There were people shooting “in the name of the people”, people planting bombs “in the name of order”, loads of people died, but all of them worshipping Mr State.

58 The Prophetling began to think that these “political types” were just like football hooligans: he used to think that if you wanted to attack someone for no reason you only had to go to the stadium, where everyone worships football and everyone fights over football.

59 The socialists, instead, all worship this State and fight over the State.

60 Time went by and the Prophetling got himself a little “125cc” wreck, still worshipping his God to keep it running.

61 As time passed the talk got more complicated: talking about rights had become very fashionable.

62 It seemed everyone had a right to everything!

63 There were civil rights which, in essence, said that a person should be free and that nobody should take anything from anyone else, and those seemed right to the Prophetling.

64 But the political windbags didn't talk about those rights; they talked about “social” rights, which basically said the opposite of “civil rights”.

65 Everyone was to have the right to a motorbike.

66 Cool!

67 The Prophetling agreed: fuck, it would have been great to have a motorbike that actually worked!

68 But it was clear to the Prophetling that if someone has a right to a “125”, someone had to pay for it... or steal it from someone else to give to him.

69 “Someone's rights are always someone else's duty, and duties are obligations backed by Mr State's violence,” the Prophetling concluded in his rough little head.

70 The business with the stickers came back to the Prophetling's mind and he started worrying again, this time about the motorbike.

71 “So basically I have the right not to be robbed, but Mr State robs; I have the right not to be attacked, but Mr State builds his whole existence on attacking.” thought the Prophetling.

72 Fuel and road tax kept going up, so did the bans, and on top of that the Prophetling was very worried about this rights business: “What the fuck... on one hand these Mr State worshippers say nobody must steal, and then they say they want to steal everything from me.”

73 One evening, already in a foul mood over a “notice of unpaid road tax”, the Prophetling walked into the usual pub and at the usual table found another political “Genius” spouting the usual crap.

74 By now he had learned not to try to work out what breed of socialist each one was, since they all looked the same to the Prophetling, all violent and aggressive, so he minded his own fucking business and ordered a nice medium Leffe, convinced that nobody could ruin his tasting of it.

75 The political blatherers all said the same things the ringleaders of their socialist “team” said, and listening to them was completely pointless.

76 They were also far more pervasive than priests or Jehovah's Witnesses... the priests gave you the sermon in church, the Jehovah's Witnesses on the intercom, but the socialists, Dog God almighty, busted your balls everywhere!

77 At a certain point the Genius started blathering about rights, and that's when the Prophetling had the terrible idea of asking a question: “You lot have busted my spheres with these rights!

78 If I have the right not to be robbed, why do you say stealing is fair?”

79 The Genius of the evening, a bit wrong-footed and perhaps a bit unsettled by the Prophetling's tone, replied with a wink that in order to protect your rights you have to hand your rights over to the State. “Great Anubis!

80 Again!

81 And what next, a slice of my ass?

82 What the fuck does this State want from me?

83 And what if someone doesn't want to hand over a single fucking thing?” said the Prophetling, thoroughly pissed off.

84 The Genius, a little intimidated, lit up and replied: “He'll have to, by force, at the hands of the State!”

85 The air was getting heavy, the Leffe had gone warm, and the Prophetling lost it: “Listen, if you want something from me, why don't you come and take it yourself instead of getting someone else to do it? Here are the keys to the bike, try and take them, since that's what's fair!”

86 The Genius probably understood that the talking was over and made himself scarce, and the Prophetling ordered another Leffe to try and relax.

87 The Prophetling went around with a penknife in one boot, just for peeling apples, and perhaps for peeling anyone who tried to steal his bike, but that evening he realised it wasn't enough.

88 Clearly there weren't only thieves who worked for themselves, but also thieves who worked by proxy.

89 So, at the end of a long meditation, he decided to add another penknife in the other boot... you never know... too many people wanted his bike!

90 From then on the Prophetling learned to steer clear of “politicos”, even though it was nearly impossible: they were all too busy worshipping violence.

91 The Prophetling grew up, the socialists stopped clubbing each other, and there was a slightly quieter period during which the Prophetling, still worshipping his Dog God, became a doddering old fool grown man.

92 The State grew to giant size; by now many were adoring Anubis and saying that taxation had reached the point of madness, and also that everything that could be done had become “forbidden”, but the fans kept on supporting their team.

93 And so it was that the Prophetling reached full enlightenment and understood Dog-Godhood.

94 The Prophet likes to think there was a direct intervention by Anubis who, for his part, had his divine spheres thoroughly busted by the Prophetling's outbursts and decided to Enlighten the Prophet, allowing him, through the contemplation of His image, to draw out the well-known precepts; by keeping them, the outbursts dwindled and became clear, conscious adorations.

95 Obviously that's false, because Anubis minds his own fucking business, but the Prophetling liked to think it had been a miracle of Anubis.