The cult of Nil's Son the Man Dealer continues apace; since my previous posting, there's been no sign of Beeby See and her Redistributionist cronies losing even the slightest interest in the Great Man. Daily prayers and devotions are being offered with all due reverence, flowers and candles and a somewhat aggressive piety; any persons found guilty of maligning the Man Dealer are lovingly awarded the punishment of blasphemy, and are consequently either sentenced to death or exiled to some wind-swept craggy island to feed the vultures.
The other day marked the memorial festivities for the departed Chieftain, and all of the notable monarchs, politicos, princes, satraps, governors, aldermen and other hangers-on from around the known world were present, pathologically anxious to be seen by their admirers to be paying their respects to expired greatness. It was a veritable Redistributionist bean feast. Bless.
The highlight of the solemn festival was the giving of eulogies by the hundreds of dignitaries; these lasted for several days, and the snoring from the audience was deafening. At the climax of the solemn occasion, Bugrake O'Barmy - the Holy Patriarch of the as yet undiscovered land of Ultima Thule - delivered his own oration. At his side stood a diminutive Bongolian man, whose role was to translate the speeches into sign language for those members of the audience who were hard of hearing and still wide awake. As ever, Buggy Boy delivered a superb tribute to the fallen demiurge, and his cascading tones, meaningful expressions and skilfully crafted rhetoric tugged on the heart strings of the gathered assembly, and there wasn't a dry eye in sight.
However, the speech contained nothing that remotely resembled coherent thought or meaning, and the poor sign man had no choice but to signify by has hand gestures what was construed by the deaf members of the audience sheer gibberish...
'the speech contained nothing that remotely resembled coherent thought or meaning'
ReplyDeleteGenius - wish I'd thought of that one!