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