19-02-2022, 08:56 AM
The secret diary of the Hermit Kingdom
MONDAY
Royal trumpets blared as the royal god made her entrance into the royal caucus. "Announcing," cried a royal brown-nose, "the Queen of the Hermit Kingdom, First of Her Name, Protector of the Realm,
Jacinda of Arc Near Morrinsville, Mother of Neve, Clarke's Missus Or Will Be When the Wedding's Back On, Minister of Secrets, Graduate of the Malignant Brotherhood of the International Union of Socialist Youth, Widely Rumoured but Unconfirmed Special Envoy of the Illuminati!"
"Morning," she said, and asked for a high horse to sit on.
They brought one in.
"Higher," she said.
They brought another one in.
"Higher still," she said.
They brought in the highest horse there ever was.
"I suppose it'll do," she said, and climbed upon it. It gave her a wonderful view of expensively maintained offices where government consultants yawned and were paid vast amounts of coin, and beyond that, she gazed upon distant fields and the kingdom's beautiful harbours; but the full beauty of the highest horse there ever was is that it prevented her from looking down upon the Ferals and Deplorables who protested on the kingdom lawns right beneath her nose.
TUESDAY
Andrew Coster, Commissioner of Police, Commander of Guards, Head of Security, Bad-Ass Mofo of Lawn Order, Widely Rumoured but Unconfirmed Special Envoy of Wokesters, sat at his desk and read through mountains of reports, memos, documents, files, data, assessments, addendums, amendments and other material concerning the Ferals and Deplorables.
And he sat, and sat, and sat, and many hours passed.
Finally, he called for his guards.
"Sir!" they bellowed. "What would you have us do?"
He squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, and clenched his fists. He presented as a sight of strong and terrifying authority. The guards trembled at his barely concealed rage.
"Well," he said, "any luck in getting hold of some tow trucks?"
WEDNESDAY
Pursing their lips, the Fiercely Independent and Astringently Fair Representatives of the Royal Media gazed upon the Ferals and Deplorables.
"Some seem washed, at least," wrote the kindly left.
"Most are dupes of a network of supremacists, racists, thugs and the actually insane," wrote the centre-left.
"Few are human," wrote the very left.
"None are worth our time and consideration, and we would be better off focussing on positive narratives about the work of health workers, responsible parents, civil servants, seeing-eye dogs, and others who are on the same page," wrote the actually insane left.
THURSDAY
The Ferals and Deplorables made breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
FRIDAY
"One good thing about the Ferals and Deplorables," said the Queen of the Hermit Kingdom, First of Her Name, Protector of the Realm, Jacinda of Arc [etc.], sipping upon chamomile tea in the grand hall where she held her Meeting of Like Minds, "is that they are all complete nobodies, just the lumpenproletariat, a nameless rabble, 'barely human' I think I read somewhere, and are able to be dismissed as thugs, losers, creeps, morons, crackpots, weirdos, people who no one has ever heard of. Hah!"
A messenger appeared and whispered in the ear of the Maester of the Sprinklers, Trevor Mallard.
"The smile seems to have been wiped off your puckish face, Lord False Rape Accuser," said the Queen. "What news?"
Mallard stammered, "The Ferals and Deplorables are about to be joined by Russell Coutts."
The Queen looked over the distant fields, and then on to the kingdom's beautiful harbours. A flotilla in full and very fast sail was racing towards the city.
MONDAY
Royal trumpets blared as the royal god made her entrance into the royal caucus. "Announcing," cried a royal brown-nose, "the Queen of the Hermit Kingdom, First of Her Name, Protector of the Realm,
Jacinda of Arc Near Morrinsville, Mother of Neve, Clarke's Missus Or Will Be When the Wedding's Back On, Minister of Secrets, Graduate of the Malignant Brotherhood of the International Union of Socialist Youth, Widely Rumoured but Unconfirmed Special Envoy of the Illuminati!"
"Morning," she said, and asked for a high horse to sit on.
They brought one in.
"Higher," she said.
They brought another one in.
"Higher still," she said.
They brought in the highest horse there ever was.
"I suppose it'll do," she said, and climbed upon it. It gave her a wonderful view of expensively maintained offices where government consultants yawned and were paid vast amounts of coin, and beyond that, she gazed upon distant fields and the kingdom's beautiful harbours; but the full beauty of the highest horse there ever was is that it prevented her from looking down upon the Ferals and Deplorables who protested on the kingdom lawns right beneath her nose.
TUESDAY
Andrew Coster, Commissioner of Police, Commander of Guards, Head of Security, Bad-Ass Mofo of Lawn Order, Widely Rumoured but Unconfirmed Special Envoy of Wokesters, sat at his desk and read through mountains of reports, memos, documents, files, data, assessments, addendums, amendments and other material concerning the Ferals and Deplorables.
And he sat, and sat, and sat, and many hours passed.
Finally, he called for his guards.
"Sir!" they bellowed. "What would you have us do?"
He squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, and clenched his fists. He presented as a sight of strong and terrifying authority. The guards trembled at his barely concealed rage.
"Well," he said, "any luck in getting hold of some tow trucks?"
WEDNESDAY
Pursing their lips, the Fiercely Independent and Astringently Fair Representatives of the Royal Media gazed upon the Ferals and Deplorables.
"Some seem washed, at least," wrote the kindly left.
"Most are dupes of a network of supremacists, racists, thugs and the actually insane," wrote the centre-left.
"Few are human," wrote the very left.
"None are worth our time and consideration, and we would be better off focussing on positive narratives about the work of health workers, responsible parents, civil servants, seeing-eye dogs, and others who are on the same page," wrote the actually insane left.
THURSDAY
The Ferals and Deplorables made breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
FRIDAY
"One good thing about the Ferals and Deplorables," said the Queen of the Hermit Kingdom, First of Her Name, Protector of the Realm, Jacinda of Arc [etc.], sipping upon chamomile tea in the grand hall where she held her Meeting of Like Minds, "is that they are all complete nobodies, just the lumpenproletariat, a nameless rabble, 'barely human' I think I read somewhere, and are able to be dismissed as thugs, losers, creeps, morons, crackpots, weirdos, people who no one has ever heard of. Hah!"
A messenger appeared and whispered in the ear of the Maester of the Sprinklers, Trevor Mallard.
"The smile seems to have been wiped off your puckish face, Lord False Rape Accuser," said the Queen. "What news?"
Mallard stammered, "The Ferals and Deplorables are about to be joined by Russell Coutts."
The Queen looked over the distant fields, and then on to the kingdom's beautiful harbours. A flotilla in full and very fast sail was racing towards the city.
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