Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Not News > Day of the Jacqui
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1180 guests online and 5 members online |
Not News
| print friendly version | |
| Day of the Jacqui | |
| By John_O | ||||||
| 06 August 2008 | ||||||
|
It's summertime and where have all our satirists gone? Gordon and his administration are on the ropes and just begging for a good send up - well you'll just have to make do with this then. Can you spot all the government gaffs that have been my inspirations? A DVD marked ‘TOP SECRET. PM eyes only’ has been found on a commuter train and handed in by a concerned citizen. The scene:- a plush water closet in the depths of the Houses of Parliament. Dave Miliband stepped inside and nervously looked around before hurrying over to the vast Victorian pissoirs and unzipping his flies. Moments later Jack Straw and Ed Balls slipped through the door casting a glance back along the corridor. “Don’t think we’ve been seen.” Balls murmured, his Gollum-like eyes staring about eerily. “We don’t need an excuse to go for a piss Ed.” Straw replied airily. Then he noticed that they were not alone and his already long face sagged another few inches in dismay. “Dave, what are you doing here?” “What does it sound like?” Miliband grated over the gentle tinkling of water striking fine porcelain. “But three of us together, it’s against the edict.” Straw pointed out in a low voice. “What if Gordon should find out?” “Better make sure he doesn’t then Jack.” A strident voice announced from a closed cubicle. All three men jumped at the unexpected voice and turned about to see the door thrown open and a power suited woman emerge. “Jacqui!” Three voices squeaked. “Put the hardware away Dave.” Smith said disdainfully. “You had enough exposure in the Guardian.” “You sent the note.” Balls whispered, his eyes nearly exploding from their sockets. “That’s right Ed, it’s time to act.” “Act?” Straw echoed fearfully. “It’s act now or be assimilated.” Smith stated uncompromisingly. “Assimilated?” Miliband queried her, now decently covered. “You make it sound like Gordon is turning us all into….” “Borgs.” Smith interrupted him decisively. “Well he is. Look at Alistair, as grey and gormless as Gordon. All of Treasury have been assimilated and, sorry Dave, he got Ed too last month.” “No wonder he cried off that stag night and started endlessly banging on about how brilliant Gordon was as PM.” “A borg,” Balls snorted, “you’ve been watching too much X-Files on TV Jacqui, Gordon’s just grey and miserable. I mean, what would a borg be doing going off on holiday to Southwold?” He chuckled. “Re-fuelling.” “Re-fuelling?” “Southwold is just ten miles from Sizewell you dummy, they’re changing his plutonium rod. The holiday is just a front.” “But…” “Shut up Ed, I’ve seen the documentation, all strictly PM eyes only, but I never trusted Tony. I had my people do some digging and it doesn’t make pleasant reading I can tell you. Haven’t you ever wondered why that mad cow Thatcher is in line for a state funeral?” “Well she, umm, won the Falklands War.” Straw suggested tentatively. “Started it more like.” Smith snapped back. “No, its because she’s nuclear powered. They have to seal her into a lead lined coffin and ship her off to Sellafield for disposal. Can’t have a regular undertaker trying to embalm her setting off a chain reaction and taking out most of Dulwich.” “Now wonder she could get by on four minutes sleep a night.” Balls said wonderingly. “She set it all up in her second term; a black ops tech unit to give her an edge in all future elections. Good thing she thought her underlings were too spineless to get shot of her.” “But surely Major would have gotten….altered then.” Miliband proposed. “But he was just the same all...” “He had a Wisden chip installed, boring old fart,” Smith cut him off, “and before you ask Tony had a non-stick skin transplant, they called it Blairoff; you all know the result of that.” “Nothing ever stuck to him; ‘Teflon Tony’ was closer to the truth than we ever suspected.” Straw agreed. “The point is that for just this short period of time Gordon’s vulnerable. We have to move on him now and unplug his borgs before they completely take over Westminster.” “But if he’s nuclear powered, how can we stop him?” Miliband demanded. “He’s got an Achilles Heel, its…” At that moment a clunking great fist shattered the door and a dark hulking shape blocked any chance of escape. “Resistance to PFI is futile.” A horribly familiar voice droned. “G-G-Gordon,” Straw stammered, “F-F-Fancy you being here.” “Damn, how did he know?” Smith shouted. She began to retreat, hauling out a heavy automatic pistol from her shoulder holster and taking aim. Something glinted darkly over the pissoirs, a glass eye…
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||
Next item
|
|---|