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Satire
The scene was a late-night meeting of the large faction of the Notional Party known as Kiwiswamp. The fairly small room was packed to the gunwales with most of the party caucus. A fairly inconspicuous fly sat on the wall, and unbeknown to the assembled swamp-dwellers, your intrepid eyewitness was observing proceedings on a monitor in a nearby broom cupboard. The meeting was about to begin.
“Order, order!” shouted Todd Duller, the Chaircreature.
“Three pies and a coke,” responded the largest member of the assembled group.
Mr Duller glared in the direction of the impertinent member and again called for order. After a few minutes the noise reduced sufficiently for Mr Duller to speak. Beside him, well to the left, sat Nikki Stray, his deputy.
“It is with great pleasure that I declare the first meeting under my Chair-gender-neutralship of the Notional Party Kiwiswamp, open,” said Mr Duller ponderously. “The last meeting, as you will recall, was under the Chairwhatsitship of Mr Solomon Ridges, whom I note is not in attendance tonight. I must say that I am disappointed at his absence. I also note that there are still a few Notional Party caucus members not in attendance. This is a disgrace. Under my leadership, refusal to join Kiwiswamp will be very detrimental to the parliamentary career of the offenders, as will be ownership of a MAGA hat. Swillary Binton memorabilia is perfectly acceptable, however, and Joe Hiden hats are also acceptable, and even encouraged.”
A low murmur of approval swept the room.
“In the new Notional Party, there is no room for patriotism. Kiwiswamp is where all the action is. Long live Kiwiswamp!” His voice rose to a shout, and a wave of swampy approbation engulfed the room, in the form of the sounds one might hear in a swamp: a chorus of ribbits, mosquito-like whinings, croaks, mournful cries as of swamp birds, and even the booming of a bittern or two, not to mention a sound very like the spouting of a whale from the largest member.
When order was restored Mr Duller continued. “The last meeting of Kiwiswamp, you may recall, was as a result of a communication from Uncle Hwmbo* George in New York. [*Editor: He Who Must be Obeyed]. “I have received another communication from Uncle Hwmbo, in which he commands (not requests, you will note) that he appear at this meeting by means of the Doom video-conferencing application. As the ordered time is almost here, let us log in and ready ourselves for this rare treat.”
All eyes were fastened onto the screen at the front of the room, and a reverent hush swept through the room, as the swamp-dwellers waited in anticipation of the hallowed event. The screen flickered and a few buzzing noises emerged followed by some visual electrical interference, through which emerged a face which looked like a cross between a grossly malformed bulldog and a mutant toad.
„Üdvözlet a mocsári lakóknak*,” croaked the rather gravelly voice accompanying this visual nightmare. [*Editor: Hungarian for ”Greetings to the swamp dwellers”] The voice broke into strongly accented English. “It’s good to see you there, as part of my Australian team striving to create the perfect globalist dream.”
“You mean your Our Tear Roar New Zealand team?” timidly interjected Nikki Stray.
“Silence woman,” bawled Uncle Hwmbo angrily. “If I say it’s Australia, it’s Australia. How dare you contradict the source of all wisdom and cash. Do you want me to tell Uncle Xi to cut off your készpénz? Moola to you. In the good old days it would have been straight to a cattle wagon for you! Hah, those days can’t come back quickly enough. Now where was I? Ah yes, in a cattle wagon… no, not yet, not yet.” He mumbled to himself for a short time, looking rather confused. “Ah yes, my beloved workers in the New Caledonian swamp… or is it New Guinea? Anyway, you’re all doing very well. I had occasion in the past to growl a little because that Solomon Ridges fellow was too slow at merging the communist and notionalist philosophies. But I’m very happy with your progress, Mr Duller.”
Todd Duller glowed a pink glow of about 75 watts at this compliment, and tried to look modest. “It’s been a pleasure,” he said. “I too, was concerned about the slow progress to the ideological merger. Just doing my job.”
Uncle Hwmbo cut in, before Mr Duller actually started purring. “I’m particularly happy about your masterstroke of having that woman… what’s her name? ah yes, Misspell Toad. A masterstroke to have her make such an unbelievable mess of that leak… But her dedication in being prepared to make herself look stupid for the cause is commendable, commendable! And I’m always instantly fond of people who resemble toads… I don’t know why.”
A murmur of approval, mixed with relief spread around the room. The swamp-dwellers had secretly been a little concerned that this blunder may have not gone down well with Uncle Hwmbo, but obviously they had got away with it.
“I must go now,” growled Uncle George. “I need to send money to encourage some more riots and societal breakdown. I think I have some to send to some groups of mine there in New, umm, what is it? Ah yes, New Zimbabwe. Well bye for now.”
Uncle Hwmbo disappeared from the screen, and Mr Duller rose to his feet, and looked around the room. With a voice choking with emotion, he said, “Well, what more can I say? Let us disperse and continue to do all we can to work for the re-election of Justinda Ardeau. And don’t be afraid. In the resulting economic destruction, we will all be well looked after financially.”
With a rousing chorus of “For Hwmbo’s a Jolly Good Traitor”, the meeting closed and the swamp creatures crawled off to their various lairs.
Your intrepid eyewitness quickly packed up his equipment and departed thoughtfully homewards, trying his best to avoid the Kindness and Wellbeing police.
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