SATIRE
Führer Klouse (the K is silent) Swab; he of the WEF (Wicked Eugenicist Fascists), a group which pines to control the world as the self-appointed holy ones, sat regally in his office, apparently deep in thought. These people are such fine examples of righteousness, leadership and trustworthiness that there is nothing they have not done, and will not do, to place themselves in control of the destiny of the human race, and the planet which they share with lesser mortals. He, who along with his predecessors and contemporaries in the ongoing crime which has been progressing for some thousand or more years, and have engaged in every evil and vice known to mankind (and many unknown to decent humans) to gain control of the planet and enslave the members of the human race whom they in their magnanimity allow to live; if the condition in which they wish to allow their existence can be called living.
He, who owes allegiance to a malign Luciferian being which can build nothing but can only destroy that which others have built, sat on his office throne. The appearance of deep thought, proved, like everything to do with these vile creatures, to be an illusion, for as Fritz, his private secretary tentatively entered the sanctum sanctorum, Klouse snorted like an elderly boar, and woke up from what was obviously a deep slumber.
“Vhat is it Fritz?” growled Klouse. “Vhy are you my deep meditations disturbing? Is ze building on fire? If not, zen begone sofort [instantly].”
“My deepest apologies oh great one,” murmured Fritz obsequiously. “I have a communication from…” he swallowed nervously and then almost whispered, “Herr Chopkins of that OurTearRoar place.” He braced himself for the inevitable explosion of wrath. Nor was he disappointed, as Klouse shot up in his chair like a rocket and barked like a constipated sea lion.
“I this am not believing,” he cried, “how many times have I zis Chopkins creature told to never contact me again? How many Fritz?”
“I believe at least three times, sir,” replied Fritz. “Possibly four.”
“Yes, you are being correct,” shouted Klouse. “It is being four. Vhy does this trottel [idiot] dare to disturb me again?”
“He says that he is in the emergency of emergencies,” responded Fritz. “He says that the fake climate and COVID crises are mere drops in the ocean in comparison to the actual crisis which he now faces. He reports that eight polls in ten days have shown that the collection of misfits and racists that he leads is likely to be thrown out, and I quote, ‘neck and crop’ at the next election. He pleads for you to do something to help him.”
Klouse sat back in his chair and made a noise like an albatross being slowly strangled, a sound which Fritz knew from experience was a Klousian laugh, having heard the sound on several occasions in the past.
“Zis imbecile does not realise that it is by my design that he is ein verlierer [a loser],” spluttered Klouse when he had regained the capacity for speech. “Him I would not in charge of a plastic plant put, for he vould surely kill it. I made ze decision to install that airline fellow…Cluxon is it? some time ago. He is ze best of ze two vorlds. He is wetter zan ze inside of a goldfish bowl, and is vun of us. He vill do vhat zese idioten are incapable of doing. Ten, twenty, thirty waters if it necessary becomes. Of course nuzzing zat ze Ardeau and Chopkins puppets have done vill be undone. Ze co-governance will ahead full steam go, with inconsequential changes. He vill efficiently implement our orders, not fail as the unbeholfene Narren [bumbling fools] have done. Selbst der blinde Friedrich kann das sehen [even Blind Freddy can see this].” He paused for breath. “Ja, ve must ze illusion of change create, wizout actually making any changes. Die Fluggesellschaft, Kap [the airline fellow] is ideally suited to zis subterfuge. You remember how he vas ze opposition vhich did not oppose? Ah zis glorious is in my eyes.”
Klouse’s eyes became a little moist as the beauty of the situation fully entered his mind.
“And Herr Chopkins?” enquired Fritz quietly. “What do I tell Herr Chopkins?”
Again the strangled albatross sound issued from Klouse’s cold lips.
“Nuzzing is vhat you tell Herr Chopkins,” he said. “He his limited usefulness has outgrown. Ze same to ze Ardeau woman applies. Zey are useful no longer. Ze Ardeau Werkzeug [tool, utensil] has material benefits received far in excess of her value. Perhaps later, after his defeat, Herr Chopkins can be given a token emolument if he agrees to avay go quietly. Maybe ve can him give some cheap land on Maui, vhich ve haff recently made available for zose who do as zey are told. Nein, let him lose and ze blame take, and after ze dust has settled ve vill perhaps have a fifteen second chat vith him.”
“Herr Chopkins has also expressed concern at the apparent rise of the Winsome Putters man,” added Fritz. “He is preaching heresy against we of the WEF. Saying things such as New Zealand – yes he dares to use that name – should not be racially divided. That health care should be based on need, not race. That Mouldy are not indigenous but immigrants like everyone else, that the Treaty is not a partnership. Horrible, unspeakable things he says.”
Klouse blanched at these words. “Enough Fritz,” he shouted. “Zese vords I vill not allow spoken in my office. Ze Putters man is old, ve vill not have to tolerate him much longer. Put him out of your mind.”
“That is what they said about George Soretoss”, said Fritz.
“Enough,” shouted Klouse. “Vhere is my cat, I vish to kick him.”
“You are currently between cats, sir,” Fritz reminded him.
“Oh yes,” remembered Klouse. “Then bring me schnapps. Much schnapps.”
”At once sir,” mumured Fritz, exiting his Führer’s presence.