Brothers In Arms

After Edweird the Milliner's come-uppance from the Trade Guild Barons the other day, the wheels of their fake empire's infernal machine continue to grind and squeak unabated. To my sensitive feline ears, it's an excruciating sound.

The Barons - that coterie of simple nobletons, whose wealth would make Croesus slobber with envy - have decided to lead their people into battle against the Tree/Liberationist Administration. Threats, fire and slaughter - and the grinding of teeth - have issued from their assembly, and the entire population has responded with either a terrified shrug or a petrified yawn.

Since the Administration inherited the parlous state of bankruptcy and desolation (referred to as the Northumbrian Kingdom) from the hallucinogenic fungus-driven Redistributionists (who in the space of a hundred and forty three thousand years and six months moulded it into their own unnatural likeness), they've engaged in an energetic regime of Cuts to the public purse. With a twinkle in his eye, the shifty Caedmeron has repeatedly assured the populace that 'we're all in this together' - which is, as I understand it, a euphemistic way of telling the hapless and bovine Northumbrians that it's their problem, and they're going to have to pay the price for the sins of their previous administration.

Since the legions of Northumbrian day-labourers had nothing to do with the dire condition of the economy (which was solely the responsibility of the Redistributionists, their psychotic leader Guffmund The Brown and the Moneylenders, who all continue to wallow in groats as before), one would reasonably expect them to resist attempts to offload the problem onto them. However, with the hypnotic silver tongues of the Soothsayers, they've been persuaded into cheerfully accepting that they themselves were responsible for the unholy mess, and they're therefore willing to suffer the indignities, privations and strictures of poverty and penury for the Good Of The Kingdom. Bless.

Of course, Caedmeron and his well-fed cronies been more than happy to capitalise on the bovinity and the essential good nature of the common people, so that's worked quite well for them. We're all in this together, people. Shoulders to the wheel. Whatever.

But Caedmeron has one formidable fighting farce to overcome - the Trades Guilds of the Public Sector, whose earnings are entirely dependent on the taxation of the working population. Since the Cuts to Public Expenditure are already taking effect with the release of cat psychologists, fish quota accountants, hamster license administrators, diversity coordinators and homeopathic counsellors to the ranks of the idle, their respective Trades Guilds have suffered a significant haemorrhage of incoming cash from members' contributions. The ultimate effect of a shrinking membership is a reduced income for the Barons - which, in turn results in increasingly modest choices in food and drink intake. Tragedy, indeed.

Therefore they've decided that they must take decisive action, and after a great deal of knuckle-dragging and grunting, they have decided that they're going to lead their diminishing numbers of members out on strike. Against the Cuts. This is bound to tug on the tender heartstrings of the public, who will doubtless express their undying salivatory support. A wise move, methinks. It should reduce the Tree/Liberationist Administration to a quivering jelly.

Well, nearly...