As you know, myself and Mrs Bastardman have just returned from a brief holiday in Italy. And I must say Thank Fuck because — despite trying it once and getting their asses mostly kicked — Italy is in the grip of a new fascism. An ugly, pernicious force is stalking the inhabitants of this small, boot-shaped country. Destroying lives and wrecking credit cards, it is more addictive than heroin and more dangerous than dropping the soap in a Latvian womens' prison. I refer, dear reader, to the Fashion Fascists: the peddlars of Prada and the traffickers of Trussardi. Because nowhere in the world is the desire to go apeshit with a semi-automatic rifle more irresistable than at a shopping mall catering for stuck-up fashion victims. I have nothing but hatred for these consumers of overpriced crap that defines its value solely by how much you paid for it. But it's not their fault. Not really. The blame must be laid at the feet of the merchandisers with their stick-insect models and slick marketing campaigns who pull the haute couture wool over the eyes of the public.

Fashion has long since stopped being what you look good in, and is now all about whether you're wearing what's hip and fashionable, even if it is fucking dumbass sunglasses the size of motorcycle visors and pants so low they shouldn't be called "hipsters" but "vaginasters". And they stumble from shop to shop, eyes glazed in an advanced state of shopping exhaustion, just to get that one last high — the final hit of Versace or La Perla or Roberto Cavalli. That one last fashion injection that will be the best, the hottest, the most trendy of all time before you kick the junk for good.

But it never happens. Because the fashion industry needs the junkies to spend their cash even more than your neighbourhood crack dealer. And so the bullshit they sell — from clothing to perfume to handbags to hair products — is always out of fashion ten minutes after you've bought it. So you have to run back the very next day, lay a thousand bucks on the counter, and bend over for them to fuck you all over again. This is the precise reason why fashion is always dramatically changing, never the same colour or style two years in a row, because otherwise the junkies would be content with what they already have. Which means no more money tossed in the direction of Donna Karan. And these pathetic trendoids fall for it season after season after season, with no taste or discretion of their own. If next year Gucci advertised that it was tres fashionable to wear a plastic phallus on your head, you just know they'd all be swarming in there to buy cranial dildos at €500 a pop. Because — in their fucking superficial excuse for an existence — being in is more important than having any form of self-respect. Die, you fuckers, die!

And, since I'm on the subject of genocide, what’s with the little doek on the head, the frumpy knee-length dresses and slip-slops? I know you think it’s hip and trendy and The Face said it was tres fashionable, but why do you wanna look like the hired help circa 1985? I tell you what: I’ll give you a bucket and a scrubbing brush and you can do my fucking kitchen, bitch. But so-called men’s fashion isn’t a whole lot better: I’m talking specifically about the stupid cricket umpire dork hat with the brim coming down. Man, I walked into a club and I thought I was at a fucking gardeners' convention. Give the man a damn fork and minimum wage — get him the fuck outta there. Is there some reason I haven't fathomed that every dumbass rich white kid wants to look like a domestic?

Alcohol is not for sale to anyone under 18, tobacco can only be bought by the over-16s, but even a ten-year old can walk into a Calvin Klein store and buy a hat for five hundred bucks. And no-one else but me seems to care that these people are addicted. They spend more money in one shop on this bullshit than I did on coke, acid, grass and extacy combined. They are truly, truly sick. But, with your help, they can be saved — you can free them from the clutches of Manolo Blahnik and Dior forever. And, for once, I'm not advocating violence (which is not to say, however, that you can't give them a swift kick in the cunt if you feel it will help). All you need is laughter. And I don't mean that in a bleeding-heart make everyone feel good and hug a Care Bear sense. I mean laugh at the fuckers. The next time you see someone wearing orange leg warmers, or those aforementioned appalling giant sunglasses, the best reponse is to point and giggle. Slap your knee and laugh out loud if you like, but make sure the idiot is aware that you're laughing at them. Only though ridicule and mockery can we make these poor addicted fuckers realise how stupid they're being slavishly following whatever dumbass fashion gets thrown at them.

And you say I'm always negative. Pah! This is socially beneficial, and it will work.

A list of stupid fashions to chuckle over
• The return of legwarmers
• Shoes so pointy you could poke someone's eye out. But for some reason you don't.
• The all-stonewashed-denim, all-the-time, braindeath-in-your-face ensemble.
• Slip-slops as high fashion.
• Sunglasses so huge they cover your entire face, facehugger-style. Similarly, sunglasses that were smuggled off the set of V in 1985.

Send me your own Stupid Fashion nomination!