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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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