This post is meant to be satirical.
Those of a sensitive disposition or have undergone a sense of humourotomy in the last 25 years, please do not read on.
All characters in the tale are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Please trust me on this in exactly the same way you would trust these other pillars of the establishment – BBC, Scottish Labour and the Westminster Tories
‘Hungry’ was just a little concerned as he marched down the echoing hallways of Pigswill College for Witches.
Despite rumours to the contrary, Pigswill was in fact an acronym of ‘Private Institute Giving Special Witches Instruction in Learning and Leadership’.
So why was Hungry so perturbed? Why was his typically jolly demeanour so untypically unjolly this particular morning.
Cadet Witch Nicola was the source of his anxiety. Hungry knew he shouldn’t have any favourites among the legions of cadets, hand picked to attend this special place but if he was forced to admit to having a preference then Cadet Witch Nicola would be his pick.
Just as he was approaching the bedroom belonging to the source of his untypical concern, Hungry stopped dead in his tracks. Was that a scream of rage he heard? Surely not. Cadet Witch Nicola, in all the time she had been at the college had never ever been anything but happy and friendly to everyone, witches, teachers, professors, you name it..
The worry lines on Hungry’s giant forehead magnified. Three giant strides took him to her bedroom door. He stifled the urge to barge in instead settling for giving the door a gentle chap.
“GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME ALONE,” the voice bellowed. “Haven’t you people done enough?”
“And what is it that you think we have done? Whoever ‘we’ is my dear?” he asked softly in a Moggieworld West Country accent.
“Oh Hungry it’s not you”, came the tearful response. “It’s everyone else in this stinking, dark, rotting, museum of a place and especially that horrible Professor Bawling. I really thought she liked me as well”.
“Oh dear,” exclaimed Hungry “and here was I thinking you loved this place to bits. To be sure it is a bit like that Moggieworld Palace of Westminster right enough”, he continued switching to a Hibernia accent, “but at least this place has been standing for over thirty thousand Moggie years so it has. Now would you be doing yourself a favour and stepping outside to tell Uncle Hungry what on earth it is that has taken the smile from your face and the sunshine from your eyes.”
“As if I didn’t already know,” he muttered under his breath
The sobbing gradually came to an end followed shortly afterwards by the bedroom door opening and a newly composed Cadet Witch Nicola appearing, a small smile trying hard to reach her lips.
“I’m so sorry Hungry really I am,” murmoured Nicola apologetically.
“Hush now my young witch,” countered the giant. “I take it today’s lecture from Professor Bawling on ‘History of Brittania in the Twenty First Moggie Century’ didn’t go very well.”
“Oh Hungry, all I said was what I thought most of the class were thinking and she shouted and screamed at me then got a whole lot of the other witches to turn against me and…..”
“Let’s just leave that for now,” interrupted Hungry gently. “We’ll come back to the fragrant Professor Bawling in due course. Lets just recap for the final time on what you’ve discovered and learned about Brittania for your final exam tomorrow. Start at the very beginning and work through to today. OK?”
Young Nicola composed herself then began:-
“Well let me have a think. Hmm, well first of all more than 2000 Moggie years ago, you had the Romans invading parts of Brittania. They tried hard to take on the whole country but couldn’t quite overcome the people from Caledonia.”
“Go on”, prompted Hungry. “What else can you tell me about the Romans then and the Brittanians now”?
“Oh yes I remember now. In Roman times, when the rich and powerful got more corrupt, they used to feed the poor to a lion for the entertainment of the brainwashed masses. Two thousand of their years later when the rich and powerful got more corrupt, they fed the poor to something called a Jeremykyle instead”
“Hmmm not bad. Then what”?
“Well, moving on, for some reason the silly Anglians got involved with a lot of people called Norman and that didn’t seem to go down too well but again the people of Caledonia weren’t involved”.
“Eh not quite”, responded the giant shaking is head, unconsciously allowing a small smile to cross his lips nevertheless. “Go back a bit though, if you don’t mind”.
Once again Nicola paused for a few minutes before responding.
“Oh yes, I remember now. Camelot and Lancelot and Arthur and the Round Table.”.
“Good. That’s better. Carry on”.
“Well then there were a lot of battles and fighting and such like. Anglia versus Caledonia. Anglia versus Cambria. Anglia versus quite a few other Moggies as I recall. Then it was powerful Moggies against poor Moggies and corrupt Moggies against decent Moggies.
“Hmm, interesting. Anything strike you as different during this period”.
The little witch ruminated this for a spell before a flash of lightning seemed to burst in her eyes
“Yes”, she cried exultantly. There was this famous Moggie named Robin Hood. He seemed to ‘break the mould’ . Standing up for the poor while robbing the rich to feed the starving made him kind of famous.”, she paused. He is somebody I’d like to emulate one day”.
“Eh let’s not get ahead of ourselves shall we”, cautioned Hungry. Nevertheless he couldn’t quite hide the look of pride from showing on his face. “Carry on”, he coaxed, looking at the miniature sundial he wore strapped to his wrist.
“Well then there was a hell of a lot more wars and battles….Oops sorry for swearing”, she mumbled.
Hungry just waved his hand as if urging her to finish.
“Then more wars and battles and Great Fires and Great Diseases and yet more cases of Anglia trying to bully everybody. God there must have been some nasty people in Anglia at the time. Must have been the influence of all these guys called Norman”.
“Geez I thought we’d sorted that out kid” exclaimed Hungry, his voice taking on the accent of someone from the north portion of the Americas.
“Sorreeeeee”‘ retorted Nicola, oblivious to the grin that flashed briefly on the giant’s face. “Then”, she continued, more wars and fighting and the rich getting richer while the poor starved. And then the whole of Moggieworld seemed to unite against a really nasty bunch of other Moggies and then there were two really mega fights and then…….” she stopped, suddenly unsure of herself.
“And then”, prompted Hungry.
The young witch hesitated for a few moments before steeling herself
“And then there was a very brief spell when everyone was happy for a time. Then all the good Moggies suddenly seemed to transform into the evil Moggies they’d defeated and then the wars and fights and battles and arguments started all over and now, right at this minute the good Moggies who had defeated the bad Moggies have now joined forces with the bad Moggies to bully and starve one of the good Moggies who had helped the good Moggies to defeat the bad Moggies and ..oh Hungry I’m so confused”, she moaned, throwing her arms in the air.
“Hush girl”, comforted Hungry. “You’re not alone in feeling confused. No one up here in Pigswill understands the Moggies”.
He paused briefly before looking Nicola directly in the eyes. “So young witchy poo”, he asked gently. “Tell me more about your um disagreement, shall we say, with the bold Professor Bawling.”
Nicola’s eyes moistened as she replied”. “Oh Hungry it was soooo horrible. All I said was that with all that history, surely the people of Catalonia and Hibernia and Cambria would be better off breaking away from the people of Anglia and she went berserk. She yelled at me, told me I didn’t know what I was talking about and then asked the whole blinking institute if they should listen to me, an uneducated cadet witch or listen to her, an esteemed Professor and of course they all laughed and jeered at me and, oh Hungry, it was just horrible”. with that she burst out sobbing again and buried her face in her hands.
Hungry couldn’t help himself. Despite all the protocols put in place, he found himself reaching down to hug the young witch. After a minute he broke away from the embrace but held on to her arms, waiting until the sobbing ceased.
“Listen to me young Nicola”, he commanded. “and listen very carefully. Every now and again, Pigswill picks the brightest and most promising young witches. They are then made ready to go on a mission to spread some of our magic to the silly people of Moggieworld. Professor Bawling is a very, very, nice and talented teacher and person”. he ignored Nicola’s stubborn shake of the head.
“Yes”, he persisted “Professor Bawling is indeed a very, very, very nice person. Not only that, Professor Bawling was once just like you. She was once a special Cadet Witch”.
Nicola’s eyes widened in disbelief. She started to say something but Hungry gently placed one of his huge, sausage like fingers against her lips.
“She was indeed just such a Cadet Witch”, he repeated. “And she was indeed ‘wheeched’ away to Moggieworld. And she did indeed spread a great deal of magic to the Moggies and she did become very famous but…” This time it was his turn to hesitate.
“Cadet Witch Nicola, have you ever heard the saying power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely”?
“Yes of course Hungry but….”
“But me no buts lassie”, the giant pressed on in a voice that had suddenly become Caledonian. “Professor Bawling got herself involved, silly woman, with a couple of powerful and corrupt Moggies and before we had a chance to ‘wheech’ her back to Pigswill she let herself fall under the spell of the Propy Gander Death Ray. Once zombified, she then exceeded her remit and spread the wrong type of magic. She and her Moggie colleagues used this forbidden ‘Propy Gander Death Ray’ again, this time accompanied by the ‘Subliminal Messaging’ poison and fooled a large part of Caledonia. Eventually we did ‘wheech’ her back for some intense reprogramming, leaving a substitute in her place. That work is still in progress so to speak but ‘Her Professorship’ is still a tad sore, hence her tantrum. She, and I’m afraid to say, Caledonia and indeed the rest of Brittania will find out their mistake in the fullness of time, trust me on that. Now..”, once again he paused before lifting his massive hands to the young witch’s shoulders.
“Tell me what you have learned about the People of Moggieworld and in particular the people of Brittania. Take your time but not too long”, he instructed, glancing again at his sundial.
A good few minutes elapsed in silence before Nicola mentally steeled herself and said.
“The people of Moggieworld and in particular Brittania are on the whole a jolly decent bunch. They are, however, very easily brainwashed by the powerful and corrupt’s use of the Propy Gander Ray Gun that turns good people into brainwashed zombies. The thing that really confuses me though is why the Moggies continue to repeat the bad things in their history, while ignoring the good things like Robin Hood and especially the Knights of the Round Table. Surely getting everyone round the Round Table would take away the need for all the wars and battles and fights”.
“You’ll do for me lassie”, Hungry retorted before turning his back on Nicola. After a brief moment he suddenly whirled round to reveal, not Hungry but Professor Ahlek, College Governor of Pigswill.
“Surprise, Surprise” he grinned.
“Professor Ahlek”, she blurted out. “I don’t understand.”
“Sorry Nicola. Your job is not to understand. Your job is to go and spread some magic…Goodbye”.
“NOOOOOOOOH..” Nicola screamed as the carpeted floor under her feet suddenly disappeared and she found herself falling and falling and falling until….
WHUMP!! …….Fifteen year old Nicola found herself lying in her bed. “Wow. What a dream”, she groaned, as reality slowly hit.
Meanwhile back in Pigswill, Professor Ahlek shook his head “Another one away to spread some magic”, he muttered smiling to himself.
Now who would be next to take her place?
Truth be told he would need to try somehow to get the rest of the Board of Directors, or the Magic Circle as Professor Ahlik referred to them, to reconsider turning down his recommendation regarding another outstanding young witch. A frown creased his giant brow as he recalled the conversation.
“Are you out of your mind, Ahlek”? they’d chorused. “We’re in enough trouble as it is with WWW.COM (Witches, Wizards Watchdog. Censor of Magic) and you want us to send down a witch with the surname Black.
‘Black Witch’. yeah they’ll really have a lot of fun with that”.
This Post is Reblogged from Quintin Jardine’s Blog with Kind Permission.
Those of a sensitive disposition or have undergone a sense of humourotomy in the last 25 years, please do not read on
The World Economy Explained With The Aid Of Two Cows
SOCIALISM You have 2 cows. You give one to your neighbour
COMMUNISM You have 2 cows The State takes both and gives you some milk.
This post is meant to be satirical.
Those of a sensitive disposition or have undergone a sense of humourotomy in the last 25 years, please do not read on.
Gordon Tan was having a really bad day. He really shouldn’t be having a bad day. Not today of all days. Not after the wonderful day he had enjoyed yesterday.
A smile crept to his lips as he recalled last night’s celebrations.
Everyone jumping about to the refrain of ‘Things Can Only Get Better’
Bumping stomachs with his ‘mucker’ John Pressbed as the latter sang, or rather shouted ‘On Ilkley Moor By Tat’
Then back to everyone chanting ‘Things Can Only Get Better’ over and over and over again as the drinks flowed non stop
Now suddenly things hadn’t got better, they’d got a whole lot worser.
Here he was, not only suffering from a hangover but drugged, kidnapped and transported by who he did not know, to end up somewhere in the body of a giant aircraft, being lectured to by a man-mountain of a man. A man that made his ‘mucker’ John Pressbed look positively dainty.
Then his bizarre day just got even more bizarre as, on the screen in front of him, an image of the President of the USA was staring in disbelief at a member of the Royal Family, dressed in a dripping wet uniform of the Royal Air Force and wearing a pair of soaking wet green wellies as some sort of fashion accessory.
Bizarre somehow didn’t even come close to describing it.
“SHUT UP YOU IMBECILE”. The voice of the man-mountain jolted Gordon out of his musings.
It also seemed to jolt the President of the United States of America as well.
“What’s an imbecile?” he voiced to someone off camera.
Off camera, a faint groan could be heard, followed by an unseen voice responding with “Sweet Jesus”, followed quickly by “I mean a moron, Mr President Sir”
“A moron huh.” the screen image of the President murmoured. “Not only can we get him for telling his President to shut up but we can also get him for betraying state secrets. Ha Ha, only joking guys” he chortled.
Off camera, the same voice could just about be heard again. “Good God, the guy thinks he’s Ronald Reagan.” followed by a louder “Quite right sir. Nice joke sir.”
On screen, the image of the President of the Free World seemed to give himself a shake.
“Right guys,” he said. “Bet you’re wondering why we’ve kidnapped you out of your slumbers huh. Guess you think we’re making you the fall guys in some April Fool Joke huh.”….
“Good Lord”, Private Jockstrap McBaldrick muttered to himself. “For a President, this guy’s no awfy bright is he? Man even ah know that it’s May no April and..”. He was silenced by a blow to the back of the head from Sergeant Ewan Whosarmie who had noticed Master Sergeant Scheidt the Third reaching for his service revolver.
“Right then,” continued the image on screen. “Master Sergeant Scheidt, kindly give the Commies, I mean the new British Government in waiting details of the mission if you would be so kind.”
Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt surreptitiously wiped the tear of pride from his eyes and drawing himself ramrod like to attention barked
“OK you guys, listen up. As the President of the Free World has alluded to, this is a joint mission between the United States of America and Great Britain.” He tried hard but just failed to keep the sneer from his voice as he uttered the words ‘Great Britain’. “As such, myself, namely Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt the Third representing the US of A and”, he gave a small contemptuous wave of the hand accompanied by another sneer “the man in the green rubbers, namely Flight Lieutenant Chookie York, representing your small insignificant country. Flight Lieutenant York and my good self will be jointly responsible for flying you guys to a top secret location somewhere not too far from here . At this top secret location you will meet with two highly distinguished gentlemen who , I am led to believe will show you the future…….”
He paused momentarily as he caught sight of a still sodden Chookie York weakly flapping his hand to gain attention.
“This better be good Flight Lieutenant,” he growled.
The Flight Lieutenant in question simpered sheepishly. “Sorry to interrupt Master Sergeant,” he simpered, “But there really appears to be some sort of breakdown in communication what. I’m afraid that, much as I’d really really love to help you pilot this,” he gestured with another weak and floppy wave of his hand “this wonderful aircraft, I really have to advise you that I’m only trained in flying helicopters and…..”
“WHAT” roared the Master Sergeant. “I don’t believe this..”
“Excuse me,” piped up Sergeant Ewan Whosarmie. “but I think you’ll find that’s my punchline. I’m sure I’ve got copyright and….Owwwwww ,” he screamed, clutching the right side of his head as the bullet from Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt’s service revolver tore off a slice from his right ear. Slowly he slumped to the floor of the aircraft.
“I’m getting close to breaking point here,” Dwight growled ominously.
This was a bit of an understatement to the shocked and open-mouthed politicians who collectively thought that both the Master Sergeant and possibly even the President himself were some way past that stage.
At that point the voice of said President intruded into the uncomfortable silence that had developed.
“Godammit Master Sergeant, you gotta learn to control that temper of yours, cant have you damaging British Government property now can we. Right,” he continued, “here’s what we’re gonna do. Instead of flying you distinguished politicians out to a secret location in the Cayman Islands…” a collective groan from the hidden audience could be heard, “with the power of good ole USA technology we are going to bring these distinguished gentlemen to you.”
There was another pause as if the man was waiting for applause then the screen went blank.
Another uncomfortable silence ensued until suddenly the screen flashed back to life. The image of a colossal top of the range yacht came into view. The camera then spanned in to reveal two white suited individuals, identically dressed right down to the matching stetsons on top of their heads. Both of the gentlemen were sipping massive and colourful cocktails, surrounded by a bevy of scantily clad women.
This sight seemed to rouse the assembled politicians from a state of stunned shock into a degree of interest.
“Golly Gosh and Heavens to Mugatroyd,” Chookie York gushed “would you look at the pair of……,” the glare from Dwight Scheidt was enough to shut him up.
“Gentlemen let me introduce usssssss to you,” one of the white suited individuals hissed in a voice so reptilian sounding that it reminded the New Labour contingent of Peter Mandelson. “My name issss Mr Halley-Foxsssssss and this is my colleague Mr Burton-Foxssssssss and we are the representativesssss of a whole horde of like minded individualsssss. Isn’t that right Mr Burton Foxssssss?”.
“Oh indeed it issssss Mr Halley-Foxsssss”, responded his companion. “And we are here to explain to you ssssome sssimple home truthsssss. Isssssn’t that correct Mr Burton-Foxsssss?”
“Oh asssuredly it issss, Mr Halley-Foxsss. Now you gentlemen may believe that you have been elected to change the order of thingssss. What was your sssignature sssong again? Oh yesss, ‘Thingssss Are Going To Get Better’ or sssomething sssimilar correct?”
The man’s eyes seemed to bore right into the assembled mass.
“WRONG!!,” it yelled. Causing the captive audience to shrink back into their seats in sudden fear
“Mr Halley-Foxsss here will first of all detail the carrot and then I will detail the ssstick. We will make thingsss sso cryssstal clear that even sssimple politissssianss like you lot will underssstand. OK?. Good. Over to you Mr Halley-Foxsss.”
“Thank you Mr Burton-Foxsss. Firrst of all full detailsss of our plansss will be made available to you all oncess you are all on board, ssso to ssspeak. Sssuficesss for me to sssay that if you follow the insssstructionsss, you will have wealth and power beyond your wildessst dreamsss. You sssee we have the future sssewn up. We have the power to ssseduce the massssessss with our global media empire. We have the power to manipulate the newsss providerssss into providing blanket coverage of the information that we decide the people need. There are so many other thingsss that we control. Do asss we sssay and you will be part of our empire but you will have to control your ssslaves…oopsss sssorry, I mean underlingsss. Convincessss them to follow our lead. Do thisss and you will have glory and prestige and earn your rightful placess in hissstory. Over to you Mr Burton-Foxsss”.
“Thank you Mr Halley-Foxsss. Very sssuccsssintly ssstated if I may sssay. And now sssorry to sssay, the ssstick. If you do not comply. If you do not follow our instructionssss then you will inherit the whirlwind. Everything you do or sssay will be ridiculed. We will ensssure that you will be denied the oxygen of publicity. We will change the media into the propaganda machine from hell. Your sssupporters will turn againssst you. Your people will ridicule you. We will turn you into evil monstersss in the eyesss of the public…”
Perhaps realising that his voice was getting louder and more strident and that he was beginning to sound like a combination of snake and Dalek, he composed himself.
“As Mr Halley-Foxssss ssstated. Full detailsss will follow. You gentlemen however mussst decide now. What isss it to be? Power and glory and sssuccesss, or ridicule, condemnation and failure. Thank You”
The politicians sat statue like for a good few seconds before the stocky Fifer growled.
“You’ve got a bloody nerve, know that. Do you honestly think you can come in here and bribe and threaten the democratically elected Labour Government. If you think we will betray our principles and our people the people who elected us, you’ve got another……”
He stopped suddenly in mid sentence as the democratically elected Prime Minister grabbed his arm.
“Now Gordon. Oops sorry, Blair Two”, he corrected himself after catching the baleful look of the Master Sergeant. “Let’s not be too hasty here. I mean you know that Sherry, oops I mean Mrs Blair Two has got very expensive tastes, I think we need to, at least, consider things”
“Yeah Blair Two,” Blair Four concurred, while the others nodded approvingly. “At least let’s consider this. Only fools rush out eh? ” he giggled.
“You can forget all this Blair Shit,” snarled Blair Two before turning to Blair One. ” As for you Blair. You shit. I always knew you were a weak, lily livered tosser. A clone, manufactured to appeal to the Home County posh folk. A….”
Blair Two stopped in mid sentence as two sets of hands gripped his arms.
“Theresssss alwaysssss one” Burton-Fox said, shaking his head. “You know what to do guyssss,” he hissed. “Time for our Sssscottissssh friend to check out hissss fitnessss levelsssss methinkssss.”
The two Special Forces Guys dragged a struggling and shouting Gordon Tan through to the dreaded gymnasium.
“Oh goody gosh, ” enthused Chooky York. “Can I come too…ah perhaps not,” he murmoured, catching the look from Whosarmie.
Twenty minutes later the saturated and broken shell of Gordon Tan returned.
He was dumped unceremoniously into his chair by the two Americans.
“What wasssss that about democratically elected nonsssenssse then Blair Two,” Burton-Fox hissed.
“Nothing,” the Scotsman muttered weakly. “I was wrong I’m sorry. I’ll do anything you want.”
“And that includesss keeping theeesssssse pesssky Naturissssstssss under control doessss it” he pressed. “Can’t have hordesss of naked Sssscotch people rampaging around can we Mr Halley-Foxssssssss?”
“Assssssssuredly not Mr Burton-Foxssssss”
“As I said, anything” sobbed Gordon Tan
This post is meant to be satirical.
Those of a sensitive disposition or have undergone a sense of humourotomy in the last 25 years, please do not read on
So good old Gordon Brown has decided to say farewell and adieu.
What on earth has happened to Alistair Darling.(Who?..Oh you must remember him. Funny eyebrows, sneer just hidden and no more behind the mask. The ‘Laurel’ to Brown’s ‘Hardy’.)
Oh yeah him. I wondered what happened to him too.
What on earth did happen to them? What happened to change them from left wing zealots and champions of the working class to power hungry, greedy, money grabbing champions of the establishment?
There must have been something. But what……………..?
THE WHICH BLAIR PROJECT
With profound and sincere apologies to David Icke – you were right all along
Cast in order of appearance:-
(Please note the real identities of the cast members have been cunningly and cryptically concealed to protect the innocent or the guilty)
Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt the Turd (sorry the Third)………Arnold Funiname
Private Dwight Scheidt theFourth……………………..Sylvester Mustangone
Flight Lieutenant Chookie Dimbutnice Yorke………Harold Chickenfield
Private Jockstrap MacBaldrick………………………….Tony Squash
Sergeant Ewan Whosarmie…………………………….Richard Bilson
Blair One……………………………………………………. Anthony Loud-Noise
Blair Two……………………………………………………..Gordon Tan
Blair Three……………………………………………….. Alistair Sweetheart
Blair Four…………………………………………………… Jimmy Twocrates
Blair Five…………………………………………………… Robert ‘Lordy’ Georgeson
Blair Six………………………………………………………Duggie Jackntom
President Of United States of America……………..President George W Shrub
Unidentified Voice Out of View……………………….. .Himself
Fat Man in Grey Suit…………………………………….Mister Halley
Thin Man in Grey Suit…………………………………. Mister Burton
Act One Scene One – 1997 4 a.m. ………A secluded deserted runway at the rear of RAF Brize Lyneham
Far from prying eyes A lone US Air Force Charlie 130 sat in eerie darkness and eerier silence.
Suddenly the deep silence was shattered by the strains of ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’ splitting the air, causing a dozen or so crows to fly off screeching from the treetops of a nearby wood sounding, strangely enough like the House of Commons at Prime Minister’s Questions. At the same time, a sleek, highly polished, black BMW Sports Limousine burst into view and came screeching to a halt, tyres screeching in tune with the disappearing birds, within inches of the tail of the parked cargo aircraft.
The sports sedan had hardly come to a halt, radio silenced, when the rear doors of the plane opened wide. It was hard to tell if there were any lights on in the interior of the craft as two vast and dark shapes filled the space, effectively blocking off any illumination. Both shapes were dressed in the uniform of the US Military but had no other regalia showing. A sure sign that they were Special Forces. The elite of the military might of ‘The Land Of The Free’.
The slightly bulkier of the shapes stepped forward slightly and held out his hand, making a beckoning gesture with his fingers, indicating to the occupants of the Beamer to exit the car.
“Halt who Goes There?”..came the cry from the second of the shapes, causing the first shape to jump, then to turn round and thump the second shape.
“We goddamn know who goes there Dwight Junior, you numskull. We’ve been expecting them for the last hour. How many times do I have to tell you, if you keep your goddamn mouth shut, people wont realise you’re a complete and utter moron?”
“Sorry Dad, I mean sorry Master Sergeant Sir”, wailed shape number two.
Further debate was curtailed as the doors to the BMW were flung open and in unison, three figures emerged. The taller of the three, dressed in the uniform of an RAF officer apart from the rather strange addition of a pair of green wellies stepped forward hand outstretched.
“Morning chaps”, he gushed enthusiastically, “Flight Lieutenant Dimbutnice Yorke, helicopter pilot extraordinaire at your service but, as we’re all on the same side, you can call me Chookie”.
Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt the Turd (sorry,,the Third) stared at the hapless looking individual before him with vainly concealed contempt. He then turned his contemptuous stare to the other two occupants of the BMW who had emerged behind their leader
“And you must be, let me see now, Sergeant Ewan Whosarmie and Private Jockstrap MacBaldrick, I presume”.
His stare grew even more contemptuous at the sight of the two ragged individuals, trying vainly to straighten themselves into some form of smartness. He muttered what sounded like “Goddamn loony Brits”, under his breath, before growling “You better come on board then” and gestured for the ‘Three Amigos’ to follow him into the plane’s interior.
At the entrance he stopped suddenly, causing the four behind to crash into one another. “Before we go any further”, he snarled, “I must warn you all that this aircraft has been customised. Half of the plane has been converted into luxury living quarters for VIP guests, while the other half”, he grinned knowingly at Private First Class Dwight Scheidt The Fourth, who grinned unknowingly back, “well let’s say it has been converted into a private gym for, shall we say Waterboarding Enthusiasts and as such is very much off limits. Is that clear?”
The three goddamn Brits exchanged confused looks before shrugging their shoulders and nodding.
Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt the Turd(sorry..the Third) glowered at all three before growling “Let me make one thing clear. When I say Is that clear? You respond with Sir Yes Sir. Now is that clear?”
Two out of the three immediately parroted “Sir Yes Sir” back but Sergeant Ewan Whosarmie sheepishly held up his hand. “Permission to speak Master Sergeant?”
Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt the Turd(sorry..the Third) glared at his hapless counterpart for a moment before slowly nodding.
“Eh excuse me for saying this Master Sergeant but eh I think you’ll find that Flight Lieutenant Dimbutnice Yorke actually outranks you so if you’ll pardon me for saying this, you should be saying Sir Yes Sir to him.”
“Oh you think so,” Master Sergeant Etc Etc responded, face reddening dangerously.
“Permission to waterboard the prisoner?” Private Dwight Scheidt the Fourth begged imploringly.
“Shut up moron!” the elder of the Scheidt family responded before adding
“Right let’s get this show on the road men. In about twenty minutes or so, six very important persons, no let me rephrase that, six very important persons in their eyes are going to arrive here. As this is a joint mission, between United States Homeland Security and the British Information Gathering And Security Service….
.” He stopped in his tracks, interrupted by the snigger emanating from Private Jockstrap MacBaldrick. “Something I said amusing you Private”, the Master Sergeant growled menacingly.
“Aye there is, sir yes sir”, the grinning MacBaldrick replied. “I was chust thinking about what ma boss Flight Lufftenant Yorke said. He said that the initials for yon security thing spelt oot Big Ass and he said that was perfect as it described the American President to a ‘T’ so he did”.
“Ooh yes, well remembered MacBaldrick my little Scottie Dog”, added Dimbutnice. “Ooh what a lark that was in the Officers Mess. Ooh how we guffawed”.
The face of Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt the Turd (sorry… the Third) slowly changed from red to crimson and finally puce as it dawned on him exactly what was said.
“Godammit”, he finally exploded. “You telling me you godamm Brit pussies have been calling the President of the most powerful country in the world a Big Ass? Right, Private Scheidt, kindly introduce Mister Flight Lootenant Yorke to the delights of our gymnasium. We’ve got about twenty minutes till our esteemed guests arrive. Let’s see how our Mister Yorke enjoys our Waterboarding experience shall we”.
“Right on dad. I mean sir yes sir”, a grinning Private Scheidt responded before leading a still beaming Dimbutnice away.
“Ooh jolly good japes what”, the Flight Lieutenant declared. “Need to get into shape for the fun ahead what”, he added, giving a departing wave to his fellow Brits.
Master Sergeant Etc Etc shook his head in disbelief before announcing “Right you lot, talk among yourselves, while your boss enjoys his ‘gym workout’. I’ve got things to do before our VIP’S arrive”.
Twenty minutes later, two things happened almost simultaneously. First of all, a rather sodden but still beaming Flight Lieutenant Dimbutnice Yorke emerged from the ‘gymnasium suite’, followed by a shocked Private Dwight Scheidt the Fourth, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Wow. Right On”, exclaimed Dimbutnice. “That was brill chaps. You really ought to try it. You know I can really see this catching on. At some time in the future”, he chortled, “everyone will want to get in on the act. They’ll probably call it ‘The Ice Bucket Challenge’ or something”.
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT”, bellowed Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt The Turd (Sorry…The Third).
“Eh excuse me”, countered Sergeant Ewan Whosarmie. “I think you’ll find that’s my punchline. In fact I’m sure I’ve got copyright on it”.
“What are you on about you Brit buffoon”, the furious Master Sergeant responded.
Before any further debate could take place however, the silence of the early morning was shattered by the sounds of many high powered engines and at the same time, six gleaming, black, top of the range Range Rovers came bursting out of the gloom before coming to a halt, in perfect formation, beside the aircraft.
With perfect synchronisation, the doors of all six opened to reveal ermine lined interiors, created presumably to introduce a subliminal effect, to the sleeping occupant in each car, of the riches, luxury and power lying ahead.
In addition to one dozy occupant, each car also consisted of a driver and two aides, who between them managed to manhandle their snoozing passenger onto a stretcher before transporting him into the interior of the waiting aircraft.
“Right men”, ordered Master Sergeant Etc Etc, “time to get this show on the road”. He pointed his finger at Dimbutnice. “You, get your servants or whatever you call them to help get our VIP guests securely seated before they wake up”.
Eventually after a lot of puffing and panting, the six snoozing ‘guests’ were securely seated.
The Master Sergeant turned to his protege and said. “Right Dwight Junior, the water buckets if you would be so kind”.
In an obviously well rehearsed routine, Dwight Scheidt the Fourth handed a bucket of freezing cold water to each of six men. Master Sergeant Scheidt then nodded and the six then flung the contents squarely into the faces of the six sleeping VIPS, causing Dimbutnice to squeal with delight and rub his hands with glee.
Suddenly, the aircraft interior was transformed into a tumult of noise as six New Labour MPs came to life simultaneously, coughing and spluttering in unison.
“SILENCE!!”, bellowed Scheidt Senior and, surprisingly enough for a gaggle of politicians, everyone quietened immediately. “Listen up people”, the Master Sergeant continued in a more subdued tone. “I know you’re all wondering why you’ve been drugged, dragged out of your beds, and transported here in utmost secrecy.
..” “Damn right we’re wondering”, exploded a stocky, burly figure in a Fife accent.”Do you know who you’re dealing with?”, he added, prompting a chorus of angry voices to join in.
“SHUT UP”, the Master Sergeant roared.
“Permission to Waterboard the prisoner?” added Scheidt Junior, causing a look of pure venom to appear on the face of the Master Sergeant.
With an effort he composed himself. “Before I explain the situation gentlemen, I want to remind everyone of the strictest security covering what happens from now on. Under no circumstances will you be allowed to refer to one another by your correct names. You will each be given a one-off identity just for today. Gentlemen,” he continued, “I don’t know if you remember the film ‘Reservoir Dogs’ from five years or so ago. A film where everyone was forbidden to use their real names and had to identify themselves by colours, like Mr Pink and Mr Orange.
Everyone nodded apart from Private McBaldrick who looked confused for a moment, then gave a small grin. “I remember it well”, he simpered. ” it was on the telly.” Now everyone looked confused and shook their heads slowly. “Course you do,” he continued. “Five o’clock at night, programme with a dog and colours and sometimes a reser.wotsit in it”. He snapped his fingers suddenly. “Blue Peter, that’s what it was called. I remember it…..
“SHUTTUP”, everyone yelled in unison.
“Permission to Waterboard the prisoner”, added Scheidt Junior
“Jeez”, exclaimed the Master Sergeant before giving himself a mental shake.
“Right, same scenario here”.
He pointed to the stocky, burly individual. “Take it you’re the Prime Minister?”
“Eh no actually”, uttered a rather sickly looking individual peeping from behind the stocky one’s back. “I think you’ll find that’s me,” he added sheepishly.
“Jeez”, Scheidt senior added shaking his head. “You Brits”. He composed himself quickly though.
“Right Mr Prime Minister”, he sneered sarcastically. “From now on you’re Blair One”. He turned to the stocky one. “Blair Two.” Continuing down the line of confused politicians, he rattled off their code-names successively until all six were coded, then added ominously. “Anybody referring to themselves with anything other than their code names will be allowed to take advantage of our next door gymnasium. Do I make myself clear”?
“Sir yes sir” yelled five of the six but the stocky one remained silent, until Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt the Turd produced a revolver from a concealed holster and waved it menacingly.
“Aye all right”, the stocky one eventually conceded grudgingly.
“Good. Now gentlemen, prepare for the honour of your lives”.
He waved his hand and suddenly a curtain was drawn back to reveal a giant projector screen.
“Due to recent advances in technology”, he continued, “you are now about to take part in a video conference with the most powerful man in the world.”
He paused, snapped his fingers and suddenly the screen came to life.
“Gentlemen prepare to meet the President of the United States of America”. Suddenly the screen cleared and there, before a disbelieving audience of gob-smacked politicians, appeared the US President, obviously seated behind his desk in the Oval Office. The great man blinked his eyes, taking in the scene confronting him before taking in the sodden, dishevelled appearance of Chookie York and his green wellies.
“I don’t beleeeeeve it”! uttered the great man.
“Excuse me I think you’ll find……” interrupted Sergeant Whosarmie
“SHUDDUP”, screamed Master Sergeant Dwight Scheidt the Turd….sorry the Third.
END OF PART ONE