- Author: Erich Squatt
- Category: prose
Last Of The Sellotape
In the last piece of sellotape we muse the moment of actualization and when the incumbent species realises that there is not, after all, a remedy forthcoming.
Why is Devon, how came it by its name and is there anything in the fact that its name rhymes with heaven? Whilst we may not explore these specific trivial ponders they do serve as (a somewhat ambiguous) illustration of how we might chart our inevitable (and unreservedly deserved) downwards spiral into the pit of despair.
From our standpoint we may, as we witness our own truly pitiful demise, sense the nefarious hand of the neo-Presbyterian in all the anguish and pain being meted out to the fallen. But we must not leap (however nimble we may be) to erroneous conclusions but rather tread the softly cautious path of gathering the final and damming evidence required to ensure that the guilty part will swing for it.
Now on the theme of the guilty party. Has any one here been fortunate enough to obtain an update from The Blessed Coalition or TBC as it is known, on its progress in saving the nations’ and other non-Christian citizens’ bacon? In truth, I have not hear so much as a whisper. Conclude then it must be going well whilst the Coalitions’ Agents Of Media have not spun such progress out of all recognition to its former self in front of our very interactive media boxes.
So before we all, again, start demanding the reinstatement of the birch (for poor people) and the removal of unnecessary human rights protections (for poor people) we might consider just who the poor will be in ten years time and whether or not we wish to gamble on the lash being applied retrospectively for previous form and misdemeanors.
