Once upon a time the chronicler of fairytales Effie
Deans looked back upon almost a year’s work and felt a mixture of horror and
shame. She didn’t understand her own fairytale. It made Grimm reading.
The whole point of the fairytale was to tell the truth
when that was the only way to tell it. The Head Loo after all might ignore or
might even not notice when one of the lesser chroniclers might start a trend,
but they were sure to notice if she said anything she wasn’t supposed to.
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The Secret (1858) by William Henry Fisk |
But how can you use fairytales to tell the truth if
you don’t know the truth yourself? This was where she was. It had all made
sense, but then suddenly two additions to the story made that everything else
made no sense at all. Let us go back to the beginning.
We can all assume that Queen Nancy abdicated because
she had no choice. If there had been nothing forcing her to go, why did she go?
But then we learned about the Head Loo, and it looked very much that all
attempts to flush away the incriminating fag end in the bowl had failed.
The same went for King Paul he abdicated as well, and
it soon seemed as if we all knew the reason. Both Nancy and Paul had been
naughty soon they would not merely have a chat with the Head Loo, they would
have their heads pushed into it and the Head Loo flushed. Why tell them that
they had to have the chat, if there would be no flushing afterwards and after
that when they no longer had the benefit of a Head Loo there would be slopping out?
Meanwhile we had the drama of the succession with Claudia,
fighting it out with Regan and Gonorrhoea.
Everyone assumed that Gonorrhoea would win, but what
we didn’t know was that Nancy and Claudia and Regan and indeed everyone else
knew that Gonorrhoea deserved his nickname because he had been playing away
from home not merely while cheating on his first wife but while cheating on his
second wife too.
Worse still Nancy had made an almighty fuss when the
dreadful man from Sasainn hung his cock out when he should have kept it away
from all the cameras. She had pretended to obey all the rules herself and had
invented more rules to show how concerned she was about the plague. Of course,
in one’s own palace who was to know if there was the odd gathering of friends
and the odd hairdresser’s appointment. But she had succeeded in the main goal
of looking better than anyone in Sasainn by keeping all that secret.
But then why pick Gonorrhoea as the anointed heir?
Wouldn’t he be as likely as her to get into trouble with Head Loo and have his
head flushed down it if the Head Loo found out what everyone knew. But if the
Head Look can’t find out what everyone knows, what’s the point of having a Head
Loo, you might as well have a hole in the ground and have its name in Gaelic
too.
So, we go through the beginning of the year assuming
that every week there will be some new revelation and when it’s particularly
juicy Effie chronicles it so that everyone knows what has happened and who did
what to whom. So, we assume that the Head Loo is really efficient with its use
of water, but then weeks pass, and nothing happens.
The case of Gonorrhoea is worse than anyone thought
possible. The poor member can no longer play at home let alone play away. Mrs Gonorrhoea
is Mrs angry and keeps telling Gonorrhoea that he got what he deserved. He
blames the quasar, but the quasar blames the unnamed or perhaps multiple
unknown unknowns who caused the first I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce
you.
The urologist who knows a thing or two about these
things blames the Gonorrhoea not least because he got it twice and a few threats
from star system closest to the quasar more times than that. No wonder he’s
keeping silent.
But the Head Loo have nothing to say to Gonorrhoea
even though they know about the threats to the urologist from Gonorrhoea’s
friends and family and even though they know that the plague rules were broken
otherwise there would have been no case of Gonorrhoea in the first place. You
can’t catch it if you stay two metres away not unless your Hancock extends further
than Gonorrhoea’s micro Hancock.
So here is where we are. If Gonorrhoea is immune from
the Head Loo and Nancy and Paul are also immune from the Head Loo, why did Nancy
abdicate in the first place?
There was a brief moment when things looked dangerous
for Nancy and Paul, and they had to abdicate and run for the Kampferwagen. But
that brief moment passed, and the Head Loo is no longer outwith our control.
Everyone knows Gonorrhoea has Gonorrhoea, but he can
continue spreading his pox and get clapped for doing it. No one thinks that
Nancy and Paul are going to have to resort to slopping out rather than their gold-plated
Head Loo.
So, what changed? If Gonorrhoea can get away with
spreading Gonorrhoea, why couldn’t Nancy get away with whatever she resigned
for?
We live in a through the looking glass kingdom.
Curiouser and curiouser said Effie as she reflected on a rumour.
Paul has been admitted to the hospital with a problem
with his ass that was not caused by riding too long on his donkey. When asked
for his name he declared that he was called Petra. Do you identify as dog said
the secretary? I don’t identify as anything said Petra, I’m a woman.
“And what may the problem be?”
“The problem is with my wife Nancy or now my husband,
Nathan?”
“Not the prophet Nathan?”
“No, he has his own problems with the”.
“Gonorrhoea?”
“How did you know”
“We know more even than the Head Loo. Are you sure
that’s not your problem too?
“My problem is my husband’s over enthusiasm in proving
his manhood”
“It got stuck?”
“It did indeed”
“But Petra your problem isn’t just with the stuck enthusiasm
it’s with the Gonorrhoea. That’s why your behind is so clapped out?”
“Who gave him that?”
“You’d better ask the Head Loo”.
In other parts of the kingdom there is a transman who became
pregnant during lesbian sex with his transwoman wife. Both were given Gonorrhoea
by Gonorrhoea, but were told if they said anything about it, they would have
balls kicked like footballs, which scared the transman, but didn’t concern the
transwoman who identified as not having balls to kick.
I feel like we are in the middle of one of those
strange mystery stories with endless red herrings and you just know that there
is going to be a surprise ending where someone impossible like the narrator
will have done it.
I laughed at the time “The poor deluded fools have chosen Gonorrhoea”, bit it doesn’t feel so funny now. On the one hand an inability to perform might be welcomed by quasars, Hell Nakbas, sheep, donkeys, other dumb animals, Paul and Nancy, but look how he spreads his lack of utility?
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