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Satire

Your intrepid eyewitness was abuzz with anticipation, having heard a rumour from his usual source in Parliament that Auntie Hellish Quark had been self-summoned to an emergency meeting with PM Justinda Ardeau. The Spyfly device was, therefore, sitting on the ceiling with a commanding view of Justinda’s office, awaiting the meeting. Your eyewitness was, as usual, in a broom cupboard not too far away observing developments.

Nor was there long to wait, for at the exact stroke of the appointed hour there came a noise like a truckload of loose bricks being dropped onto a corrugated iron roof.

This was merely Auntie Hellish giving a preliminary tap on the door before bursting into the office and striding authoritatively across the room and collapsing into a chair by Justinda’s desk.

Justinda was at her desk, mumbling to herself, and cutting out paper dolls with a pair of scissors.

She glanced up as Auntie Hellish glared loudly at her and barked, “For goodness sake, Justinda, pull yourself together, this is no time to be playing with your paper dollies.”

“I just had this good idea,” said Justinda. “See, this paper dolly is Flusher. See how I’m sticking pins into it? Now look, I’m cutting off its arms and legs, now its head. I feel better already. And this big one is Terry Roundtree. See, I’m cutting his chins off. Now I’m cutting  him in half.” She giggled uncontrollably.

Auntie Hellish rolled her eyes. “Enough,” she roared. “We have an emergency on our hands, and I need you to stop playing and listen.” She glared at Justinda so fiercely that a few of the paper dolls began smouldering. “We have to act, Justinda. Our plan has received a swift kick where it hurts most. This was not meant to happen. We had the leader of our choice in place, and his deputy Nikki Stray was one of us. Now look what’s happened. The Flusher is the leader, and the rats are scattering in all directions.”

“I heard that Kiwiswamp has been disbanded, and the death penalty applies to any who attempt to start it again,” said Justinda.

“It’s worse than the death penalty,” said Auntie Hellish with a shudder. “The punishment is for the miscreants to be forced to listen to your cabinet ministers’ answers in question time on an endless loop. This includes yours as well. You can be certain that there will be no attempts to revive Kiwiswamp while Flusher is in charge.”

“And Lamey Madams is retiring yet again,” said Justinda. “ Her family must be a bit confused though. She wants to spend more time with them, then she doesn’t, and then she does again. They must be on the edge of their seats waiting to see when the next ‘less time’ is coming up.”

“I’ve already had a very grumpy ‘please explain’ from Uncle *Hwmbo George in New York,”growled Hellish, sounding rather like a constipated tiger. [*Editor: He Who Must Be Obeyed.] “He was congratulating Mister Duller at his last Kiwiswamp meeting, on his delivering the election to us, just days ago. Then he heard that the Flusher had become leader very soon afterwards. As you know, he’s grumpy even when he’s happy, and he is definitely very seriously as far from gruntled as it’s possible for an immensely rich, white privileged, racist, traitor to be. Cattle wagons were mentioned a number of times, and also he said he’s seriously thinking of telling Uncle Xi to turn off our cash supply.”

“He wouldn’t do that, surely,” said Justinda going very pale. “And surely Uncle Hwmbo isn’t racist?”

“He’s white,” said Auntie Hellish pointedly, “and by the definition of the terror groups he himself has created, that means he is racist.”

“But you and I are w-w-,” Justinda paused, “a bit off-white,” she finished lamely.

“Enough of this digression,” snapped Auntie Hellish, “we need a plan, and we need it fast. I’ve been thinking about this, and…”

“So have I,” interrupted Justinda excitedly. “I have a plan. Lockdown! We need another lockdown. Then I can be on TV every day like before, and the Flusher won’t get a mention. And then we can postpone, even cancel, the election. Ohh, it’s such a good idea.”

“How do you justify another lockdown?” enquired Hellish, looking rather surprised that Justinda had been thinking. “If you think the public will fall in line again like last time, you might be in for a shock. And don’t count on the Flusher being left out of the picture either.”

“But my plan is absoludely brilliant,” cried Justinda. “We let hundreds of people in from Xiflu infested countries for the sentencing of the Tarr… I mean the bad guy, the eco-fasc… ah, fashionista, you know who I mean.” Hellish nodded impatiently  “We let some of them escape from quarantine… We just pretend they don’t understand what quarantine means, and let them run around a bit, coughing a lot, then Hwmbo’s your uncle. Wuflu’s spreading again. ‘Ooops sorry people, lockdown’. It’s brilliant Auntie Hellish, say it is, please.”

“It seems to me,” said Auntie Hellish thoughtfully, “that this might just be considered by a lot of people to smell of incompetence, don’t you think? This would not be good for your image, and more importantly, the party’s image. However, we don’t have a lot of options at present, so maybe it has some merit.”

“No, no,” shouted Justinda, excited now. “The people love me. I saw it on my Farcebook supporters’ page. Everyone loves me. They will do whatever I say.”

Auntie Hellish sighed deeply, like the first stirrings of a tropical cyclone. “All right Justinda,” she said, “you can play with the paper dolls again now. Just do as we tell you, keep taking the medications, go to bed early. Goodbye.”

With that, she exited, leaving Justinda absorbed with her paper dolls again.

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