Thursday 3 March 2011

BeeSky's The Limit

Nothing ever stands still in the weird and wacky world of Northumbrian affairs. While Cyrene is riven by internal fighting and the hoo-ha with O'Daffy's Redistributionist fellow-travellers rumbles on, more ordure is being spread over our green and pleasant land. Not that we need it, mind - there's plenty enough of the malodorous brown stuff on the fields already...

One of the biggest purveyors of soothsaying services in the Kingdom (and elsewhere) is a man called Ruprecht Evil-Merodach; he is an ancient wrinkled fellow, who has his finger in more entrepreneurial pies than Simple Simon could ever lay claim to. He is the Emperor over a vast empire of soothsaying, sport and entertainment services to keep feckless and idiotic Northumbrians err.... feckless and idiotic.

For all this, so far he has failed to purchase the soothsaying services of the pantomime dame Auntie Beeby See and her bizarre, magic mushroom-chewing bosom pal Guardy-Ann, but nonetheless, he has an impressive portfolio. If there's a singer or a dancing fool suddenly brought to prominence, you can bet your boots that Evil-Merodach had something to do with his (or her) meteoric rise to fame and fortune. Old Rupie is also the single reason for the opulence of that football club Madcaster United, which has the highest paid and flatulent slob footballers in the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire). He virtually owns the entire realm of football, which he uses to promote his various business interests. The pies and ales sold at his teams' games are tastier than anyone else's.

But sadly, the gods of greed, money and power are insatiable, and Rupie has recently put in a bid for a 100% stake in Beeskybee - one of his many interests, over which he had a minority share. Unfortunately for this avaricious tycoon, he's unable to buy the business outright, owing to of the risk of falling foul of the overpaid, work-shy Monopolies Ministry bureaucrats. (I've never understood this. If Caedmon happened to buy the last loaf of bread in the baker's shop, why the dickens should he have to apply to the Witangemot for permission to own it - simply because there are none left?) Whatever.

The Witangemot have predictably feigned horror about this and have obliged Rupie to wait until they had a long deliberation with the Monopolies Ministry bureaucrats about this. They rustled some papers, farted and coughed a few times, told a few jokes - and they have now pronounced their considered judgement. Ole Rupie can buy Beeskybee outright, but on condition that he sell his Skynoose soothsaying empire. Hooray!

I'm so pleased for him. He obviously needs the increase of self-esteem and groats. What I fail to understand though is why so many Northumbrians are turning into ignorant slobs and chavs. Is there any connection with the burgeoning number of oversized dinnerplates attached to the exterior of their hovels? They evidently don't use them to feed the birds, as they attach them in perpendicular fashion. Bizarre - or what?


  1. If Rupie should "accidentally" fall into a large expanse of water with his oversized purse stuffed up with oversized coins...the old man will surely drown, dragged down into the depths by the very thing he covets the most.

  2. Yes indeedy! Especially if he has loads of groats in his fancy coats... Far better to travel light - you have less to lose.