Deviating For A Moment

And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make. This week has been very busy and ex-hausting for me, said the chief muck-raker, Anderson, as he unearthed the latest ITT - CIA cons piracy. In fact, he continued in a ponderous monotone you could say with some conviction that the past few days have revealed the incredible tie-ups that have existed since time immemorial between business interests and the politicians. However, he went on to say, it is about time someone saw to it that this whole exploitative system was fucked from one end of Kingdom Come to the other.

So saying, he blipped Nixon and his running dogs over their heads, bombed the White House out of existence, made a press release to the same effect, and deserted to the Other Side, commonly known as the Alick Shaw/Peter Wilson/Rob Campbell camp. (Not to be confused with that other more devious definition of camp.)

At the same time the French bastards exploded the bomb to lick all bombs, and Anderson and his cronies went to Hell, where they received an extremely warm greeting from Byron Cullen dressed in a red dressing gown and a golf-spangled party hat. Meanwhile, on the other side of the coin, (other similes include world, fence etc,) Dave and his heavy-footed friends waltzed hand in hand with Lindsay round a mulberry bush which turned out to be a nasty furze bush in disguise.

Lindsay and Dave were convinced that deep in the heart of the furze glowed red a powerful but venomous beast called Oligopolis which would take care of all problems perpetuated by two tick birds bearing the names of Anarchy and Apathy who, in the past, had always been first in the pecking order. They were to be mistaken, and after their fall from the halls of red carpet, they spent their last few lives eking out an existence cultivating furze bushes with soft leaves to replace slippery student grot paper. The drains became clogged with Tick birds go bling mulberries and thus, as a spokesman for the Woman's Mirror confirmed yesterday in an on-the spot consultation, there had been a dramatic yet totally Non Violent restructuring in the red dressing gown factory (Alias Santa Inc.) Latest creations for the summer were now to include a natty number modelled jointly by Mesdames Student Nurse and Polytech of 1972. (Miss Poly has hairy legs and tried to hide her colourful/coloured background under a feather cloak embroidered with prickly mulberries, but still looks stunning in her elegant hat of Tahiti travel posters put together under the expertise of the factory's travel consultant, who not only arranged jaunts to the North Pole for Santa come Christmas Time, but also earned funds to keep Santa Inc out of the red by teaching school children to sing the Star Spangled Banner (Only on a part-time basis -Ed's note.)

Shut your trap snarled Snowballs, as he glared at Patty Pussy from bleary eyes. If there's one thing to get straight it's this: there will be no, absolutely no messing round between the sheets. This is clean meeting and I want to keep it clean, get it? P.P. got it, swallowed, and appealed desperately to the floor, which was by now covered with blood, coat hangers and malformed babies. The mode of this gallery was ugly, and Snowballs had to act fast. Stealthily he slipped a stink bomb from his pocket and lobbed an underhand pass to Pussy who caught it with his mouth open and vanished into a cloud of smoke and sulphur

And that was that, sighed a crapped out liberal as she mashed her cigarette into a jar of Pond's cold cream and rolled over to dream of cities unconquered, fields untrod and quests not begun.

Amen by Paul Burns