It's just one more little chip away at our freedom.
You newspaper will only contain things of which I approve.
And we are charmingly, but amusingly naive if we think it will stop at Page 3.
Chip, chip, chip, chip, chip ... it will never ... ever ... stop ...
... until we all think the same, look the same, dress the same, until ...
Oh, what the heck, let's just surrender to the insidious powers who want to crush us all into little models of themselves.
Next thing, they'll be telling us we can't smoke in pubs.