This might be part six,
Mr Whu reminds the P.M that brain size isn’t all that important in politics
Dear reader we take up where we left off, Ces and Quent, the two heroes of this saga being swept along by a wave of raw sewerage under the very bowels of Parliament. Ces’s brain-wave that the sewerage was flowing IN rather than OUT, and Quent’s discovery that ‘Sheilah-shit’ looks exactly the same as ‘bloke-shit’. Which ever way you look at it’s a fundamental symbol of equality the world over.
But worryingly, the turgid effluvium was not out bound but in-bound,
Which begs the question; Why?
And with scant knowledge of what goes on beneath the bowels of our nations capital, the near certainty, that their journey, no matter how traumatic, must COME TO AN END!
P.M ‘opens his lunch’. Disciplined staffer pretends not to notice.
As the parliamentary forecourt was only several hundred meters from the august (and tastefully designed) portico of Parliament itself, it had to, just like the P.Ms serious deliberations on Wimmin-hood had to be LEADING US SOMEWHERE!
Will their downfall be their outfall?
Catch up in this excremental expose…….( read on)
“Jeez Quent, no matter how we swim against it, it just keeps pushing us onwards.
‘Yep Ces, it’s got a power all of its own, who would’ve thought that shit could be intelligent?
Yep it’s like Barnaby, there’s an irrefutable power of force at work, even though intelligence in any quantifiable extent is non existent!
Barnaby. A GENIUS on the Parliamentary floor! Straining under the pressure of a carbon policy.
Yep beats what’s going on in Parliament, if I had a microscope and a scanner I might be able to detect Barnaby’s shit from the general shit. Which would be a faeces (thesis) in itself’. (Ces was fond of a pun under bleak circumstances) .
We both laughed, Barnaby and intelligence and shit was just too rich.
But still, with fear in their hearts they knew they were going somewhere, and it felt sinister.
‘Jeez, Quent, its so dark, if we had something to hold on to?
I know Quent , you cant get a grip on this, it’s just like the defilement of Mrs Culthorpe, no matter how close we get it just drifts past.
Can you hear something?
“What’!, Ces, doing a steady dog-paddle, replied,
‘There’s this sound of surging, sort of like paddle wheels, or the sound the bath makes when it goes down the plug hole, and look’!
And sure enough there was a light ahead. Very faint and indistinct, and yet glowing and growing as the effluent bore them on. Then, just as it grew perceptibly lighter they could detect singing.
Barnaby, on the cusp of choking out a carbon policy.
It was so faint and indistinct, but unerringly familiar.
‘Jeez Quent, if this is heaven I reckon the plumber should be sacked,
Too right Ces, and the smell is up to high-heaven, but not in an enlightened kinda way’!.
The stream increased its flow and they could now just float onwards.
YOU BEAUTY! Choked out a Hard-Dark-one and it stands as a Fair Dinkum CARBON POLICY! Another demonstration of GENIUS!
It was uncanny, but they’d got used to the odour, and reflected that if this was their last moment, it wasn’t all that bad. They could’ve been refugees on Manaus, or even little aboriginal kiddies destined for a lifetime of incarceration, or worse still a parliamentary intern who also happened to be female, Or even an intern of a private aged-care facility run by a bloke who happened to spend most of his time on the Greek isles. Sensing their demise, they’d become philosophical and with thoughts distracted and floating to a higher place, they resigned themselves to an aqueous immolation.
But, to their surprise, the singing grew louder, and the stream became a torrent, and just as they floated into a blinding light a pair of massive hands picked them out and plonked them onto a sort of platform.
Wiping themselves down, they blinked. Blinked again, then wiped their eyes. For though they could see the viscous discharge being directed to vats, which poured their oleaginous goo into rivulets, they also became aware of the bulk of a man who loomed over them, and just then the penny dropped.
After Choking out a fair dinkum carbon policy, Barnaby gets on to more urgent matters. A sheilah in Parliament policy!!
Who was this master of the nether regions? Who is the is Feurher of the foecal matter? What portentous event is about to vent?
Find out in our next fulminating episode, “A suppository of wisdom”, or “Seven pillocks to Wisden”, and read what fate befalls those who stand to save the honour of the fallen women of parliament .