Cadet Witch Nicola And The Scourge Of The Propy Gander Death Ray

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”.

World Economics Explained

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.

FASCISM You have 2 cows. The State takes both and sells you some milk.
BUREAUCRATISM You have 2 cows. The State takes both, shoots one, milks the other and then throws the milk away.
TRADITIONAL CAPITALISM You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull. Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows. You sell them and retire on the income.
VENTURE CAPITALISM You have two cows. You sell three of them to your publicly listed company, using letters of credit opened by your brother-in-law at the bank, then execute a debt/equity swap with an associated general offer so that you get all four cows back, with a tax exemption for five cows. The milk rights of the six cows are transferred via an intermediary to a Cayman Island Company secretly owned by the majority shareholder who sells the rights to all seven cows back to your listed company. The annual report says the company owns eight cows, with an option on one more
.
AN AMERICAN CORPORATION You have two cows. You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. Later, you hire a consultant to analyse why the cow has died.
A FRENCH CORPORATION You have two cows. You go on strike, organize a riot, and block the roads, because you want three cows.
AN ITALIAN CORPORATION You have two cows, but you do not know where they are. You decide to have lunch.
A SWISS CORPORATION You have 5,000 cows. None of them belong to you. You charge the owners for storing them
A CHINESE CORPORATION You have two cows. You have 300 people milking them. You claim that you have full employment and high bovine productivity. You arrest the newsman who reported the real situation.
AN INDIAN CORPORATION You have two cows. You worship them.
A BRITISH CORPORATION You have two cows. Both are mad.
AN IRAQI CORPORATION Everyone thinks you have lots of cows. You tell them that you have none. Nobody believes you, so they bomb the crap out of you and invade your country. You still have no cows but at least you are now a Democracy.
AN AUSTRALIAN CORPORATION You have two cows. Business seems pretty good. You close the office and go for a few beers to celebrate.
A GREEK CORPORATION You have two cows borrowed from French and German banks. Your people need to eat eat both of them. The banks call to collect their milk, but you cannot deliver so you call the IMF. The IMF loans you two cows. Your people eat both of them. The banks and the IMF
call to collect their cows/milk. You are out getting a haircut.
AN IRISH CORPORATION You have two cows One of them’s a horse!
And Last But Not Least
A SCOTTISH CORPORATION You have two cows that you think are valuable and worth a lot of money but your neighbour tells you they are past their best and definitely won’t last for very much longer.He even utilises experts to confirm all this.. This makes you sad, dejected and unable to perform to your full potential. Then unable to take the misery any more, you decide, as a last resort, to move somewhere else.and try something new. Lo and behold your new neighbour tells you your cows are very valuable and will provide milk for years and years.and years You are now a happy bunny once more

The Which Blair Project (Part Two)

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

 

THE END