Information
Satire
I, your intrepid eye-witness, recently had the brilliant idea of turning my spyfly device into an attack fly, so that if what I heard by way of the device was too jepradacious, I could silence the speaker by using FDA tactics and firing a dart at xi/xe/xem/xey. This dart would contain sufficient concentrated tranquiliser to cause the chattering quisling to sink into an instant deep sleep and, as an added bonus, wake up a few hours later with a thumping headache.
Some may argue that this silencing of speakers, even if uttering treasonous words in private, is against the whole idea of free speech. I’m inclined to agree but, taking a leaf from the left’s book, I can just about convince myself that this is in the interests of ‘the science’, which they claim to follow assiduously.
Having modified one of my spyflies, successfully tested it and found that it was effective and accurate up to a distance of about five metres, I was itching for an opportunity to test it in the field.
Nor did I have long to wait, as one of my informants told me of a meeting of a secret committee, unknown to almost everyone, called the Committee of Public Fear, which was to take place the following evening.
Having set up my device by remote means (the fly having gained entry under the door), I found that the smallish room in which the meeting was to take place was ideal for my purposes and I was able to place the fly in a spot on the wall which covered the entire table around which the committee members were to sit.
As the time for the meeting approached, the participants began to trickle in. First in the door was a deceptively harmless-looking specimen named Rashly Broomfield, followed closely by a pink-haired life-form named Fliouxsie Whales. A few minutes later was Shorn Bendy with Mickey Faker close on his heels. Rod Klaxon was next. There was a bit of a lull and then came a noise like the Te Huia Express plunging over the Niagara Falls, signalling the arrival of Auntie Hellish Quark, who plonked herself into the prime position, which indicated that she was to chair the meeting.
About ten minutes after the scheduled start time and signs of increasing impatience from the gathered activists, particularly Hellish Quark, approaching hoofsteps were heard, and Justinda Ardeau trotted into the room and sat at the table, looking around at the assembled group.
“What’s the meaning of this?” boomed Hellish angrily. “This isn’t the Rostrum of Colostrum you know. A grand late entrance doesn’t impress us at all.”
“Oh, sorry,” said Justinda airily. “I had to go back to take my Ivermectin. I have a bad case of worms at present, and I also have a bit of a sniffle. We all know it’s effective if I’ve picked up a dose of Delta.”
“Shush!” hissed all the other participants simultaneously.
“Do not mention the ‘I’ word!” snapped Hellish. “You know we don’t want the facts about that to get out. Right! Now that we’re all here at last, I declare the meeting open. Our task, as you all know, is to brainstorm new ways to terrify the public so that they will do whatever we require. So far there have been good ideas that have been used successfully, but we need more and more scary slogans. ‘Delta will hunt you and kill you’ was a good one; whoever thought of that did well.”
“Well, I was rather proud of my ‘Eighty thousand will die’ effort,” said Shorn Bendy.
“It would have been a lot more effective had it actually happened,” snapped Auntie Hellish. “What a pathetic effort; under thirty, even with ‘Deadly Delta’ thrown in. And as for you,” she turned and glared at Rod Klaxon. “Was it you who came out with the absurd statement about burning pine trees? What possessed you to think that was a good idea?”
“Well,” whimpered the whining Rod, “it’s a start. I’m thinking we could tell people that if they’re not vaccinated they will spontaneously combust and burn like pine trees. Maybe we could catch them and add petrol to their forced vaccine.”
Hellish gave him a withering glare, and he shrank into his chair like a salted slug.
“Forcibly vaccinate is a good threat,” conceded Hellish. “But petrol in the vaccine? Do you not know how much that costs these days? Imbecile!” She addressed Broomfield. “Your ‘Level One freedoms are a thing of the past’ was a good one,” she remarked. “Coming from a wimpy-looking weasel like you makes the threat a bit more sinister, somehow. But we need more. Come on!”
She glared around the table, eyes starting to turn red, which they all knew signalled the impending ignition of her short fuse.
“How about announcing that the unvaccinated will cause six million Aoteroans to die,” piped up Bendy. “And the survivors will suffer from endless boils and haemorrhoids.”
“Boils and haemorrhoids! Luxury!” shouted Fliouxsie, hitherto silent. “Tell them boils, haemorrhoids, untrammelled flatulence and giant worms, and that’s just from not wearing a mask.”
“Don’t mention worms,” said Justinda. “That might get them to use iver…”
“Shush!” sibilated the other committee members in unison.
Fliouxsie continued, looking as though she was going to spout at any moment. “I stick by giant worms. We can also add that the unvaccinated will spread leprosy, yellow fever, diarrhoea and constipation combined; let’s call it diarpation. Ebola, dengue and…”
“Enough! Thou bunch of gleeking rump-fed puttocks,” shouted Hellish, waxing Shakespearean. “What’s wrong with you all? You’ve had weeks, and this is the best you can do?”
The meeting descended into chaos and I’d had enough by this time, so aimed the fly at Fliouxsie hoping to silence her. The dart flew true and straight, but unfortunately got caught in her hair and disappeared into the boundless pinkness.
Disappointed, I shut down the fly and tossed off a stiff whisky in an attempt to blot out the memory of the bunch of dangerous fearmongers I had just witnessed.
