Frankenrighteous.

It's not just the Tiny Blur and the other undead former monsters who get police protection any more. Even the binmen have an escort now.

Fortnightly bin collections are bad enough, but when they refuse to take your bin because it doesn't fully close, then leave a note saying they'll be back in two weeks and expect the bin to be less full, well it's not surprising people get a bit miffed about it.

A bin full of waste - a black, heat-absorbing bin - sitting for four weeks in the summer can get pretty ripe. Even here where it's rarely touched 20C and there's been no sun for weeks. Plus you have two weeks with nowhere to put any new rubbish and you still have to take some out of that bin. If you have that fly-breeding box outside your house it is not going to put you in the best of moods.

Gloucester City Council, which operates a fortnightly collection, has since claimed that the policy has been around for a number of years.

Yes, and people have fumed quietly about it for all those years. It seems all that pent-up rage is starting to overspill the dam and you know why, Righteous? You know why they resort to violence?

It's because you, Righteous, told them it was okay. You told them that violence against smokers, drinkers, overweight people, any group you directed them to be enraged at is perfectly okay. You, Righteous, created this monster and you never for a moment imagined it would turn on you, did you?

The Righteous created an enraged army quite deliberately. Furious people, like vicious dogs, to be set on the enemies of Righteousness with a few made-up statistics, a scare story and of course 'the cheeldren'. The fortnightly collections, spying on them to check they are sending their children to the correct school, cameras that fine them for parking if they so much as stop moving for a second, all of it calculated to enrage people. No single thing was ever quite enough to pin all that rage on. It was an accumulation of little irritations. An unfocused fury.

Then the Righteous gave them somewhere to vent that fury. Smokers. Drinkers. Fat people. Whenever there was a new ban to be enforced, that random anger could be pointed in the right direction. All the Righteous needed to do was poke the nest and send the drones after their target.

There was only one flaw in the plan. The Righteous took their army of rage for granted. They refused to listen to concerns raised by their pets. It was all stick and no carrot. Why would they listen? Would you discuss with your goldfish whether he would prefer a square or round tank? That is how the Righteous regard people. Not as human but as pets. There to be trained and commanded.

The training worked. For a time. Now, Righteous, your attack dogs have started to define their own targets. They are no longer only biting on command. They are starting to see where their rage originates and while, at the moment, they vent that rage on minions, it is only a matter of time before they see who is really to blame. Your attack dogs are breaking loose, Righteous, and they are rabid.

They were never pets, Righteous. They were always people and while you can control people by instilling that mob mentality, you cannot control the mob forever. People have a nasty habit of thinking for themselves and while you have tried to eradicate that, you have failed. It simply can't be done. If you had not hidden history, you would have known.

It's all breaking down, Righteous. All falling apart. Again. Oh, it won't all collapse at once but the cracks are getting wider all the time. It will accelerate.

Brace yourselves, Righteous. Pitchfork Day is coming.