The soothsayers have been in a state of high excitement as they've received news of Very Important Developments in the faraway (and as yet undiscovered) land of Ultima Thule, where, so we're told, an election has been taking place among the hordes of that mysterious realm for the Tribal Chieftain's seat.
As I intimated yesterday, the contest has been between His Eminence Bugrake O'Barmy - that slick, silver-tongued, smooth-talking orator, whose prowess owes principally to his considerable experience as a used chariot salesman - and his rival, the wealthy plutocrat, aristocrat and laundromat Mutt the Rumpy, an adherent of an alien polygamy-promoting heresy which is peculiar to those undiscovered shores. This has been a contest between two disparate mentalities within that Elysian field of plenty; the one supporting Buggy Boy represents an amalgam of knuckle-draggers, the wealthy inarticulate, the impoverished inarticulate, starry-eyed Redistributionists, fantasists and the chronically short-sighted and naive, while the other is a dog's breakfast of flag-saluters, shopkeepers, apple pie eaters, the splendidly isolated, the bow-and-arrow lobby, the hang-'em-high brigade and - last but by no means least, the fabulously wealthy. This latter mentality has been described as the Silent Majority, chiefly because of their speechless eloquence, which certainly came to play a significant part in the outcome of yesterday's contest.
The results of this legendary contest have reached the unwashed lugs of the soothsayers, and we're reliably informed that the hip cat Bugrake O'Barmy has once again been returned to the Chieftain's Throne, where he can once again administer his own idiosyncratic brand of righteousness and peace, aided and abetted by the enormous tax bills of the bankrupted citizens of that benighted realm. Already there has been the ringing of many bells and the wringing of many hands, and the political sages are already predicting the tone for the next few centuries of Bugrake O'Barmy's reign. Although his speech has been bereft of the magic word "hope", he's nevertheless promised an era of free healthcare herbal remedies, mustard, bustard and custard for the Ultima Thule residents. This is a coded message, and the translation refers to more woe, debt, bankruptcy and biscuit. Good times are just around the bend - just as they were yesterday, as well as five thousand years ago.
I have a sneaky feeling that a consequence of this Significant Development is that Ultima Thule will remain undiscovered for several hundred years yet...
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