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Satire.
Your intrepid eyewitness is pleased to advise that he was able to retrieve, quite intact, the spyfly which, as advised in a previous report, had the misfortune to crash into a sausage roll on Grunt Robbingson’s (the Minister of Sausage Rolls and Finance) desk. Due to my mole planted in the cleaning staff, the sausage roll in question was found and the spyfly rescued. (Very few sausage rolls end up in this particular waste basket). Once it had been cleaned of the pastry, cheese and sausage meat, it was found to be ready for service again. A few modifications to the faulty remote control and the spyfly was again ready and waiting on the wall when the Prime Minister, Justinda Ardeau, next trotted into the Minister’s office.
Justinda: (sounding a little glum). Good morning Grunt. How are we this morning?
Grunt: I’m in good spirits Justinda. A new consignment of sausage rolls has just arrived, I’ve just saved the beneficiaries from the Wuhan flu, and I’ve borrowed lots more money. The world is a beautiful place.
Justinda: Well, I’m a disappointed bug… I mean hugger, Grunt. I was just one day away from hugging my way to a certain election victory, and someone whose name I forbid you to mention forced me to cancel it.
Grunt: How did the Tar…, rather, terrorist chappie force you…?
Justinda: Stop Grunt! There are now two people whose names you are forbidden to mention. You know who the latest one is. I was poised on the edge of a triumph. It was within a hijab’s thickness away and it was stolen from me. Stolen I tell you!
Grunt: Every cloud has a silver lining, Justinda. Into every life a little rain must fall. Does not adversity make us stronger? But this Wuhan flu is really a godsend, don’t you think.
Justinda: That’s a third name that must not be mentioned Grunt. Marxsend would be more appropriate. Or more accurately, a maosend or even a xisend. But yes, I must admit it has the potential to propel me to victory at the election. If we can get enough cases here, it could be years before we need to even bother with an election. (Perks up and flashes a manic smile).
Grunt: Well I think we’re well on the way to achieving that goal Justinda. It was a stroke of genius to keep the borders open for so long, while pretending to be going early and going hard…
Justinda: (quite jovial now). Yes, it was Grunt. The self-isolation decree was very clever, because of course hardly anyone is going to take any notice of it. And the media have been so helpful in spreading the Xiflu, and making me look really good at the same time. They say I’m so decisive and a strong leader. It almost makes up for my hugging cancellation.
Grunt: Yes and now that we’ve closed the borders…
Justinda: (excitedly). Yes, yes that’s so good. Didn’t I tell you in this very room, not more than a few weeks ago, that Our-tear-roarans wouldn’t be able to escape to Australia when they want to? Well, didn’t I, Grunt?
Grunt: Well yes, but don’t forget that the Australians have also closed their border, so they couldn’t go even if we wanted them to.
Justinda: Yes Grunt, but the Australian closure is only temporary. Mine will be permanent. We can spin this out for years, Grunt. I’m so excited. I’m almost beginning to think that borders may not be such a bad thing after all. Maybe that Orange Trump person isn’t so silly… no, no, no, I must not even think like that. Please don’t mention that to Uncle George in New York.
Grunt: I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that lapse in sanity, Justinda. But I think we need to move more quickly.
Justinda: Why? I’ve already told everyone that I am the only real source of truth, Grunt. Soon I’ll be the Justinda Jong Un of the southern hemis… humis… bottom half of the world. Everyone will be waiting for me to tell them what to believe. Can you believe that? I, me, me, me, as the source of all truth. And kindness of course. And wellbeing. Oh, and I’ve solved child poverty too. Those stupid statistics just can’t be true. If we kill all the babies before they’re born, or even afterwards, then there’s no more child poverty. And the Xiflu might kill a lot of old people too. Think of the savings in superannuation. More room for the Manus Islanders. I’m so kind, Grunt. Ohhhh, Utopia here we come… (Sounding increasingly frenzied).
Grunt: (sharply). Now Justinda, get a grip on yourself. Please stop rocking yourself like that. Take deep breaths. There now, here’s a brand new paper bag to breathe into. I use them a lot, it works very well.
Justinda: (After a few minutes of hyperventilating). Sorry Grunt, but I’m just so excited about the possibilities. Do you think that I could call myself Big Sister? I look upon my people as my brothers and sisters. Stupid siblings of course, who need to be controlled and guided at all times, but mine, mine, mine!
Grunt: I wouldn’t do that just yet, Justinda. And please stop sucking your thumb. It’s not Dear Leaderlike at all.
Justinda: (sulkily). Well, I like the sound of Big Sister. But maybe a bit later…Ok Grunt, let’s do it. I’ll put us into total lockdown. The Kindness and Wellbeing police must be out in force, with those things designed for killing people… what are they called again?
Grunt: Guns, I believe, is the correct term.
Justinda: Yes, of course, guns. They must have guns, lots of guns. We’ll…
At this point, the transmission ceased, as the spyfly realised that the word limit for BFD articles had been reached, and shut down. Your intrepid eyewitness, deep in thought, and a trifle nervous, wended his homeward way, keeping a sharp eye out for the Kindness and Wellbeing police.
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