What ho, Tuppy!

A bizarre form of vandalism has broken out called “Wodehousing”.

Maybe I’ll form a street gang in my area, and this will be our graffiti. Watch out Crips and Bloods! What you lookin’ at, MS-13? Don’t mess with the Roderick Spodes! (Or rather [shooting cuffs, and twirling silver-knobbed cane], “I say, you young slabs of damnation, bear in mind that if you seek to impede, retard or otherwise obstruct the Spodes in exercising suzerainty over the neighborhood, you will shortly find yourselves in the proverbial soup, what? Base over apex. Suffering the slings and arrows of something –something, I mean to say.”

Update: Or maybe I'll call them the Black Shorts...

“Don’t you ever read the papers? Roderick Spode is the founder and head of the Saviours of Britain, a Fascist organization better known as the Black Shorts. His general idea, if he doesn’t get knocked on the head with a bottle in one of the frequent brawls in which he and his followers indulge, is to make himself a Dictator.’

‘Well, I’m blowed!’ I was astounded at my keenness of perception. The moment I had set eyes on Spode, if you remember, I had said to myself ‘What ho! A Dictator!’ and a Dictator he had proved to be. I couldn’t have made a better shot, if I had been one of those detectives who see a chap walking along the street and deduce that he is a retired manufacturer of poppet valves named Robinson with rheumatism in one arm, living at Clapham.

‘Well, I’m dashed! I thought he was something of that sort. That chin…Those eyes…And, for the matter of that, that moustache. By the way, when you say “shorts”, you mean “shirts”, of course.’

‘No. By the time Spode formed his association, there were no shirts left. He and his adherents wear black shorts.’

‘Footer bags, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘How perfectly foul.”

- The Code of the Woosters