Killer Virus

October 30, 2009

The loss of productivity is troubling, quite frankly. Peons are dropping on all sides, felled by a mysterious illness often referred to by the locals as the “flu”. Although My staff of esteemed medical care personnel tell me that this flu is not necessarily fatal, it is murdering a large number of My worker bees. The doctors suggested timidly that this might be due to the general poor health and nutrition of My average citizen. Those doctors have been replaced by new doctors who insist that the flu is fatal to the common masses and there is nothing your Fine and Fancy can do about it. These doctors have also been separated from their beloved heads because after being educated in My fine facilities these many years, they should be aware at this point that there is nothing I can’t do. What fool would doubt the great and terrible glory of your Lionhearted Omnipresence?

However, whatever the nature of this flu, it is distressing Me to see My precious pawns in such a state. No wars can be fought when half of My foot soldiers have temperatures of 40 degrees and higher. The workers tilling the fields have coughed all over the produce so that I am forced to throw it away to prevent contamination of other peons. Which means that there is a distinct food shortage as the majority of what the Republic produces these days goes straight into the bin. So you poor citizens have even less than usual to eat. Don’t worry about your Up to the Hips, though. I’m importing all my food from Europe until the crisis passes. I will still be strong and hale enough to watch over you with My paranoid eyes, looking for plots among your malnourished population to overthrow Me and establish a democracy. (More like a democrazy!)

So what is the message to you, the individual peasant, from Me, your First and Only? Simple, dear citizen. Get the flu shot. My random hodgepodge of medical people tell me that it is highly effective in preventing further transmission of the virus by breaking down the links in the chain. If you have been vaccinated, you won’t get the dreaded flu and pass it on to your neighbour peon. So your neighbour peon is saved by your own forward thinking. Which means that friendly neighbour can get back into the fields and grow some cough-free food. Which means you may just get enough to eat yet. Until I start raising taxes again. So get the flu shot soon and enjoy a brief moment of relative prosperity and a respite from the crushing burden of life in the Republic. This window is short, citizen. Take advantage.

Advertisements

Language

October 12, 2009

Your Up in the Sky has been alarmed recently at the flagrant misuse of part of Her Illustrious Title. Peering around this “Internet”–you peons may know this type of peering as “googling”, even though it is common knowledge that a googol has nothing to do with peering and everything to do with the number 1 followed by 100 zeros–I have discovered a shocking misuse of the word “dictator”. It seems that in your workaday world of disease and poor language skills, anyone who crosses your path can be a dictator. An absolute disgrace to the fine English language and an insult to autocrats everywhere.

Peasants, a dictator is not someone who has angered you by reducing the amount of parking available at the local supermarket. Nor is it anyone whose political opinions you disagree with. And that annoying person in your office who keeps watch over the supply closet? Not a dictator. Not even close.

No, peons. Dictator is a title you earn through years of ruthless and self-aggrandizing behaviour. When you have overthrown the government of your country, interred dissidents in work camps, implemented arbitrary laws to govern the daily lives of your citizens, sported a little moustache, put chatty peasants in the Brank, signed treaties with other nations and then ignored them, gone to war with neighbouring countries for the sake of entertaining yourself, curtailed human rights, abolished free speech and put your tired feet up on the back of some interchangeable peon after a long day of watching over your death squads, then and only then do you have the right to call yourself a dictator.