Table of Contents
Captain Cuttle
A few weeks ago, whilst strolling fairly aimlessly along the street, enjoying what I thought was summer sunshine in the mistaken belief that New Zealand’s summer had finally arrived, I spotted an old friend shambling towards me. He was a scientist – a rather eccentric chap, being well-stricken in years, whose main area of expertise was fiddling with DNA and looking for that breakthrough
that might benefit the human race, for he was at heart an altruistic old bloke.
His walk was unmistakable, as it looked like that of a cross between an upright grizzly bear and an emperor penguin. One of this professor’s ancestors must have been the blueprint for all absent-minded professors subsequently born, for he was a prize specimen of the genre, and always had been, even as a child.
“What ho, old bean,” I called as he closed in on me, knowing that being a Wodehouse fan like myself, it would instantly attract his attention. It seemed to work as he stopped in his tracks like a bear that has spotted a juicy emperor penguin, and looked around for the source of the greeting.
Eventually his eyes, which, due to his thick spectacle lenses, looked eerily like poached eggs, fastened on mine and a smile of greeting flickered across his face. “Oh, yes, indeed, what ho old lozenge,” he responded.
This was the correct response, and so I continued. “You remember me don’t you?” I ventured as I could see that his memory was working in overdrive.
“Oh, yes of course,” he responded. “You’re that chap whose name I can’t quite recall, if I remember correctly. Wait, you’re the fly fellow aren’t you?”
He had remembered correctly, as my claim to fame was the spyfly which I had developed and which was used to record our politicians in action so that the appalling narcissism and blatant treachery of these blots on society could be presented to voters.
“Yes, I am indeed the fly fellow,” I said, “and I wonder if you have time for a coffee and muffin.” I knew that the good prof could not resist a blueberry muffin, especially a free one, and so it proved.
We were soon seated in a nearby café. A cup of coffee and a huge muffin sat before the prof, and I knew that its fate was sealed, as the larger the muffin, the more voraciously hungry the professor became.
The conversation soon moved to his current work, and I was interested to discover what his present experimentation involved. “Oh, this and that,” he remarked vaguely. “I’m a bit cautious as to what I experiment with after the disaster with the politicians’ DNA.”
We both shuddered at the memory. I have reported on this in the past but, briefly, some politicians’ DNA had come into his possession and he had conducted experiments, breeding various animals containing some of this DNA. The results were rather frightening as I have written about a few years ago. The worst result was the parrot into which he had incorporated some of Justinda
Ardeau’s DNA. The resulting foul fowl had proved to be a menace the like of which was unequalled – apart from the original owner of the DNA.
I pressed the prof as to what “this and that” actually was, and he looked furtively around the café before replying. “Loose lips sink ships, and the walls have ears,” he muttered but soon continued. “Well, interestingly, my current work also involves politicians. Yes, yes,” he whispered, seeing the shocked expression that I couldn’t conceal. “I know it’s dangerous work but I think that since it’s election year it’s important to know what we’re dealing with.”
He took another huge bite of his muffin and paused while he sent the mouthful on its perilous journey down his oesophagus. “I am working on a truth serum for politicians,” he continued. “I know that truth serums, or is it serae? are common enough. But you cannot begin to imagine how difficult it is to produce one that will work on politicians. As you no doubt know, they are not normal human beings and are very resistant to telling the truth. I have been working on this for months and I believe that I have made a breakthrough.”
I agreed with him that a truth serum for politicians is an extremely difficult proposition – in fact I would have said that it was impossible. I waited patiently as the professor caused more severe damage to the muffin until not a single crumb remained. The prof’s eyesight may have been as bad as a rhino’s but it was good enough to detect even the smallest muffin fragment.
“I have tested this serum,” he said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief the size of the harbour bridge flag, “and it worked very well. I have to admit it has yet to be tested on a politician but it has been tested on the next best thing, namely a used car salesman. I offered him a peppermint that had been infused with the serum, and within two minutes he was telling me that the car he had extolled as actually being better than a brand new car was really a heap of junk that would be lucky to
make it out of the yard and it had spent a couple of weeks submerged during the recent flooding in the King Country.”
“That is an excellent test,” I agreed, “but how do you think you can get a politician to take it? They don’t all eat peppermints.”
“I have my methods,” the prof said ominously. “For non-peppermint eating politicians I can provide it in the form of a white powder. That will cover most of them. For Napkins a sausage roll will suffice. I have learned from Bill Yates that others can be induced to take medication unwittingly. Just a hint, watch Chris Napkins’ ‘State of the Nation’ speech tomorrow. My distribution network is
doing its work as we speak.”
With that, perceiving that both coffee and muffin were no longer viable propositions, he thanked me, bade me good day, and shambled off. Of course, when the time came for Napkins’ ‘State of the Nation’ speech on the following day, I was there online to watch the livestream. Under normal circumstances I would rather walk barefooted across a bed of small plastic bricks (you know the ones I mean) rather than watch this treacherous scoundrel making a speech. But I was hoping that the prof would deliver a never-before-seen spectacle, namely Napkins telling the truth.
Napkins was surrounded by his usual bevy of mewling onion-eyed mouldwarps and nearby a pack of sychophantic ‘journalists’ were all in a state of unconcealed excitement. Napkins cleared his throat, and began to speak. “Friends, Romans... Oh sorry, wrong speech,” he mumbled and began again. “The present government has failed to impact the cost of living crisis!” he shouted, looking like a six-year-old schoolboy complaining about being short-supplied a pineapple lump in his bag of sweets.
“Ah...” he paused, looking worried. “But, I have to say, they’ve done better than the Labour Party would have, and after all we’re the ones who caused the problem
in the first place.” He stopped, obviously struggling to believe what he’d just said. The surrounding toadies shuffled uncomfortably. Napkins tried again. “We are a pathetic opposition, and have nothing other than higher taxes to offer the people of this crummy country,” he continued. “I wish I’d been tougher during the Covid era and had the whole miserable lot of you forcibly jabbed. The whole thing was a
set-up hoax and we lost a golden opportunity to finish you all off. The only one who benefitted was Justinda Ardeau, and look at her now – rolling in WEF money, lucky cow. But she saddled the country with a huge debt and it’ll get bigger if you elect us again.”
He swallowed and looked around, as white as a sheet. A couple of his surrounding minions grabbed him by the arms and started to drag him away. “McAnutty is a communist worm,” he shouted as he vanished behind the group of puking bat-faced foot-lickers, “and Cluxon is a WEF plant. We’re planning a coalition together after the...” his voice faded away as he was dragged out of the room.
I sat there stunned as the feed was terminated and my thoughts towards the prof were of the greatest admiration and benevolence. “So he did it,” I said to myself. “What a genius he is to get Napkins to tell the truth.”
I determined to watch all the forthcoming parliamentary broadcasts, as I had total confidence that the professor’s distribution network would deliver the serum to the other party leaders. This proved to be the case and if time permits I will report on this at a future date.
