Friday, 28 January 2011

The Wicked Witch of the Mail

How was it born? Her shrivelled carcass split with a crack, forming the dry wafery beak from which she spewed vile and hate upon her flock. They chewed into her excrement as if it was the answer to their pitiful lives. Some watched with disgust. "why?" "When it would all end?" But they could never understand. She lived and flourished on the offerings of affection from her loyal tribe. They, unable to conceive reality themselves, of which she claimed vast knowledge and understanding, repeated every motion of her lips, burning the messages onto their minds. She would keep them safe. She would protect them. “Loyalty like this” she smiled “Loyalty others could but dream of”.

Baby’s cried, animals snarled, the spectators cried out “Why so much hate!” A lump of dread flowed out from the tribe. Decayed and old, not through age but venom, the tribe crunched their hollowed out shells along the streets. Bitter and snappish, their misguided superiority and twisted world views comforting them as they dragged their stale skin over the aspirations of mankind. The whiff of these bitter hearts polluted the air. An acid stench that grew with every conflict. But they liked it, it drove them. The world did not fit the preachings but they saw their chance to make it fit. The ease. The lack of resistance as the stench of dread dyed itself so firmly into every wall and building they passed. This was a sign.

A small quiver of excitement shuddered over them. Spreading conflict was the only method left for Melanie Phillips horde to reminisce over their lost emotions of hope and goodwill. She was not going to let them down. “This world was made for my tribe, my tribe was made for me!” Spitting rage and crying injustice against every individual who dared dreams about having a happier existence than she. Melanie Phillips boiled and fumed as she slid to her place ahead of the tribe. Her swollen right amygdara oozed puss with every syllable she mutters. “they don't understand” She shrieked to her flock, encouraging them on. “They have a child's understanding. They know nothing of the responsibility we have to deal with. We know the dangers. We see the decadence. We understand history. We know where it leads”

The sight that met the country was indeed a shocking one. Turfed out of their graves the horde shoved their rotting bodies though the streets. “Are any of them people we know?” People wondered, staring in disbelief. “Where did they all come from?” “There's so many! Am I only sane one left?” Observers stumbled, disorientated by the unsightly mass of irrational hatred. The rattle of bitter disapproval began shimmering through every corner as the plague sought to convert or vilify all that lay in its path.

You must understand something. You see inside Melanie Phillips, behind the vale of hate that coats every fibre of her being, lies a vulnerable child. Not strong, not confident, not in control. What happened next is a testament to how weak and ineffective theses people are. I'm not sure where it started. Some say it was just a kid who, after hearing the creature rant, saw it for the frenzied loonacy of a comic character. Some say this was all inevitable, once it got to big, to in your face, to absurd. People simply started to laugh. Just a titter at first. Perhaps a sign of disbelief at how stupid and mixed up people can be. Then it grew. In a matter of minutes the whole country was shaking with hysterics. “Melanie Phillips and her army of clowns” “Their so out of step with reality” “How can they function in day to day life.” The world was safe, as we hope it always was. Safe in the knowledge Melanie Phillips is an utter joke.

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