Warning
Satire
Hellish Quark, the Chairbully of the Society of Leftist Obnoxious Bullies, (SLOB), pounded on the table with her fist, and called the meeting to order, in accordance with the rules of the Society.
“Right you bunch of simpering socialists, sit down and shut up or I’ll get Leerin’ McAnutty to make you,” she shouted.
McAnutty cracked his knuckles and roared, “@##**##@ right now you #@@** of @##**#// or I’ll *%##$**.”
“Well, that’s a clear message for you all,” bellowed Hellish, as the assembled bullies reluctantly sat down, wearing the bullying facial expressions, which are compulsory at such meetings.
My Mark IV spyfly sat on the wall, sending the proceedings back to me in my home office. The previous model had exploded at a crucial time as a result of my innovation of having it rub its front legs together in the manner of real flies. Unfortunately, the speed regulator had failed and the incessant and rapid rubbing of the legs had caused the fly to overheat and explode. This fault had been rectified and tested, and the leg rubbing was now quite normal for a specimen of Musca domestica, suborder Cyclorrhapha.
When a grudging silence had settled on the meeting, Hellish Quark again spoke. “There are two main reasons for today’s meeting,” she growled. “The first is to farewell Trevor Dullard, who I’m happy to report is finally leaving us. She turned to Justinda Ardeau who was seated at the table with her, in her capacity of Vice-President of SLOB.
“Well, Justinda,” she said, “do you have anything to say as Bullyboy leaves us?”
“I’d like to say that Trev Dullard will be sadly missed by us all,” quavered Justinda sadly, “as his has been a shining example to all of us in SLOB. His bullying ability is world class, and has even attracted the praise of Herr Klouse Swab himself.”
“Nonsense,” interjected Drunkan Cobwebb, the chief bully of Parliament. “I consider myself to be a far more accomplished bully. If he’s so good, why am I the Chief Whip? If he’d like to step outside, I’ll show him a bit of good honest whipping…”
“Stop interrupting,” shouted Hellish, banging the table loudly. “I have no quarrel with your bullying prowess, but let us not be distracted. Continue Justinda.”
“It is to be hoped that he will continue to be one of the most diplomatic bullies ever to leave our shores,” continued Justinda, reading from a speech pre-written by one of her minions, “and I believe that he will acquit himself well, should he ever be involved in a good Irish donnybrook, which is inevitable.”
“Hahhh,” snorted Willie Relaxin’, who had hitherto remained silent. “And it’s no nonsense that we Irish will be taking from him. And it’s off we Paddys will be seeing him, make no mistake. Aye and begorrah, to be sure, to be sure.”
“You’re just a useless Irishman,” shouted Leerin’ McAnutty, “as well as a useless Mouldy, so that makes you doubly useless.”
“Silence!” thundered Hellish. “Continue Justinda.”
“Well, that’s all really,” said Justinda. “But of course we must mention his masterstroke with the sprinklers and music. I particularly enjoyed his Nero impersonations from the balcony.”
“Ah, Nero!” cried Angry Andy, his whiskers bristling with excitement. “There was a fine bully if ever there was. I aspire to be half the bully that Nero was. I’m afraid that the Dullard comes nowhere close. Where were the anti-vax human torches burning in rows? And the Christians! Where were the starving lions and tigers to tear them apart? Pshaww. A mere beginner.”
“Order!” shouted Hellish. “Well, I suppose it’s time for a speech from Mr Dullard himself. Where is he?”
A quick lookaround showed no sign of the guest of honour, and a search-party was sent out into the corridor to seek his whereabouts. It duly returned to report that Mr Dullard was in the corridor involved in a fracas with Stoatart Gnash and David Porker, with Nanaia Matooter and Damien No’Honour holding the coats. They had been able, with some difficulty, to separate the protagonists, who shortly after limped, swaggered and rolled into the meeting room.
Trevor Dullard began his speech with a string of invective directed at his fellow bullies, and ended by observing that he was pleased to be heading to Ireland, but disappointed that he would no longer be able to use his bullying skills in the defence of his adored PM.
The assembled bullies then sang a rousing rendition of “For he’s a jolly good rarikena [larrikin, hooligan, ruffian]”, to conclude this part of the meeting.
“Now to the less pleasant part of the meeting,” announced Hellish firmly. “The recent disclosure of party secrets by a back-bench MP, and we all know that I am referring to…”
“No!” shrieked Justinda, rocketing out of her chair as she does at question time in the house if she has a particularly weak answer to offer. “I forbid that Mr Charma’s name be mentioned, just as I forbid the mention of Tyrrant’s name… ooops.”
“Very well,” responded Hellish, “we all know anyway. It seems that we underestimated this person, who is obviously not fit to be in a socialist party. I approve wholeheartedly of the methods used to keep him in line, but obviously they were ineffective.” She glared in turn at McAnutty and Cobwebb. “You two have failed. Had you done your job well, he would have been unable to talk at all. Or walk”, she muttered as an afterthought.
“Now listen here,” shouted Drunkan Cobwebb, “you might be the President of this Society, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll withdraw and apologise right now!”
“Nobody threatens me,” hissed Hellish. “Let me tell you right now…”
The meeting broke up in chaos at this point, as a donnybrook of epic proportions began. I watched its progress with interest for twenty minutes, until the last battered bully limped out of the room. It had been a great evening’s entertainment.
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