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Pest Food, comedy, satire


Pest Food, comedy, satire, estate agents, vampires







Pest Food

(Featuring - The Wogan Institute for Penetrating Sociological Insight & High Fat Diets)

The scene:- Committee room C in the AloeVeras' base, and all five members of Generation 7 are present:-



Number 8 inserted the tealeaf into the CTL-R as it's colleague, Number 11 explained the imminent show to its fellow members of Generation 7.


'This is a tea leaf that we have teleported from Honda Prelude's cave, high in the Himalayas. Due to the high flux of coherent somethingorothers during her astral travels, the whole journey is stored in the tea leaf which she used when she returned.'


'Good!' exclaimed Number 14.


'And by simultaneously irradiating the tea leaf with 2 perpendicular beams of somethingorothers in this device, we are able to display her journey to you.'



Chairentity Number 12 looked worried - the burden of command and pressure of responsibility weighing heavily on its overtaxed processor.



'On this astral journey to Planet Ertia, Honda detoured to The University of Camphor, School of Stolidity, and homed in on The Wogan Institute for Penetrating Sociological Insight & High Fat Diets,' explained Number 11.



'Its amazing what one can learn from the archives of The Wogan Institute for Penetrating Sociological Insight & High Fat Diets (*),' interjected Number 9.


'I'm impressed you can remember the name,' confessed Number 8.



'Sit back and enjoy the show!' Number 11 burbled. 'This is what Honda gleaned from the institute.


'Pray continue,' the chairentity encouraged.


So they did:


Five seats were arranged around an open space where the two beams of somethingorothers were to intersect. Number 11 left its seat to attend the ctl-r.


There was the gentlest of murmurs as the tiny tray slid out of the housing. Number 11 inserted the tea leaf, checking on its case that it was the correct sample, then pressed the tiny pink button. Number 8 fidgeted uncomfortably at this stage - either black or white had been its choice of colour scheme, but Number 11 could be so persuasive.


The tray docked, Number 11 returned to its seat, and a rectangular space in front of the AloeVeras sparkled with minute violet spots as the beams of coherent somethingorothers came to life. An image of Honda Prelude appeared, life-like but for the mildest tinge of violet in the surrounding air, and she entered The Wogan Institute on Planet Ertia.


Chairentity Number 12 was so startled by the display that it left its seat and peered at the scene from different vantage points.


'I can see around corners!' it exclaimed, and the creators of the device beamed happily.



This is what Honda discovered on her visit to the institute:


Once upon a time in planet Ertia the presiding government thought they'd increase their chances of re-election (which were looking very slim) by offering tax breaks to older people seeking to colonise the recently-discovered, seemingly-idyllic island Doughvert on Planet Penshun; An island thus named because the only landmass that peeked out of the idyllic turquoise ocean was a single huge island that looked from afar like an enthusiastically rising loaf. It was slightly un-loaflike in the colour department, being idyllically fertile, hence green.


The discoverer wasn't French, but thought 'vert' sounded more middle class than 'green', and he had unresolved feelings of mediocrity which the use of foreign lingo was meant somehow to dispel. The other half of the discovering duo was a native French speaker and she insisted on the English 'dough' for pretty much the opposite reasons, having been educated at a very expensive finishing school, and couldn't even say 'phook', let alone do it with the lights on.


Closer inspection of the island of Doughvert reveals that the coastline is fractal and therefore of infinite length - an estate agents' dream. Homing in on a crinkly segment of coastline seems to reveal straight segments, but magnification reveals these to be equally crinkly; and apparently straight segments of these prove, on higher magnification, to be likewise crinkly. One never reaches Crinkly Bottom, as it were. A very useful fact when selling real estate to the nouveau retired - 'Move to Doughvert and avoid Crinkly Bottom!'


The archives of the Wogan Institute for Penetrating Sociological Insight & High Fat Diets on Plant Meeja reveal that within minutes of the discovery of the fractal coastline, the management of Piranha & Frenzi - Estate Agents est 2006, (in Wherewithal, UpNorth, The Unitdy Queendom, nr. Europe) drooled and burst into life.


Within seconds the shop was locked, Messrs Piranha and Frenzi retired rapidly to the rear of the premises, each removed their suits, shirt and tie and rather unique underwear. Then they took it in turns to unzip each others' skin.


'Feel the breeze,' said Piranha with relish.


'It's dark enough,' replied Frenzi. 'Let's go.'


They each took an enormous swig of warm blood from their flasks, unfurled their great leathery wings and looked to the skies.


'What's the escape velocity for this planet?' asked Frenzi, securing his goggles and oxygen cylinder.


'Only about three hundred,' replied Piranha. 'Let's go.'


So what's wrong with exporting elderly, pension-laden Ertians to an idyllic land with a crinkly coastline? Nothing; that's what the politicians said, and they believed it, but they hadn't fully thought through the consequences of their social engineering.



Within a few decades of its colonisation, the principal imports of Planet Penshun were pest foods.


That's not a typo! It seems that elderly folk cannot resist putting out Qnuts and brodsky for the sweet little birdies. The sweet little birdies of Planet Penshun rarely got a bite at the treats, because the dominant bird of this oceanic planet - Cgulps - (so named after the shape of their ever open beaks) nabbed all the food. The Qnuts and brodsky were heaved out in such extravagant portions that even the notoriously greedy Cgulps couldn't eat it all and dropped most of it onto the beach where the native wrats devoured it and bred like wrabbits (which they also ate).



Sadly, the wrat droppings are bloo in colour (which is not a problem) and insoluble in water (which is). The beaches of Island Doughvert on Planet Penshun levitated at an exponential rate, inline with the increasing wrat population, created an (infinite) pong and caused (infinite) stress amongst the elderly settlers of the no-longer idyllic land.


'The authorities', as the now belligerent residents called them 'will have to do something, or the wrats will gain access to our lovely green land over the cliff edge! What then?' they asked, peering down at the rodent-ridden bloo beach, protected from the worst of the pong by HappySmogExcluders (Intragalactic mail order from Saga-Ertia plc).


'We'll be singing the bloos,' replied one wag.


'Zactly,' added another, punching away at the computer implant in his wrist. 'Forty days and we're done for,' he estimated.


As it happens, another election was due on the mother world of Planet Ertia, so they, the authorities, did do something.


The Intragalactic transporters that carried the Qnuts, brodsky (and tea and biscuits) to Planet Penshun were hastily modified so that in addition to carrying eighty billion tonnes / annum of food towards the island of Doughvert, they were now able to transport the wrat poo back from the 'beaches' to the nearly exhausted prairies of the great plains of Ertia where the Qnut and weet farmers spread it as fertiliser, (weet being the principal ingredient of brodski).



'Very interesting,' said Number 14 as the show ended.



'We get the whole story from one of Honda Prelude's tea leaves?' asked the chairentity. It seemed hard to believe.


'We do!' beamed Number 8, with pride and happiness.


'It's wholeography!' added Number 11.



Number 14 nodded its noddle agreeably. It felt impressed.



'You understand this gizmo?' asked Number 9, its pen poised over a notepad.



'Not at all,' confessed Number 8. 'We call it a wholeogram to reassure ourselves. It's very comforting giving a name to something that we don't understand! Don't we, Number 11. Number 11? Where's it gone now?'




'Thank you for the film, essentially,' said Number 9, wishing to maintain the academic atmosphere. 'Oh no. Stop that noise!'


'What's up now?' asked Chairentity Number 12.


'It's that damned 'Vera, Eleven, singing:'



Number 11 was indeed improvising a song as it careered around the circular main corridor, side-saddle, on its service robot.



'There'll be bloo turds over,


The white cliffs of Doughvert,


Tomorrow, ouch! Why did you throw that?'



'You know that doesn't scan?' Number 8 observed after the briefest computation. Not that it sounded like a complaint.


'It doesn't rhyme either,' chuntered the chairentity.





(* Yes, there are an infinite number of these - two recently discovered examples being the one in Planet Ertia, and t'other in Wherewithal, Upnorth, The Untidy Queendom, Near Europe, Planet Earth. And the first, of course, on Planet Donut, presided over at present by Professor Wallop D Poultry - 3 examples of the parallel universities phenomenon).



(** Our highly intelligent and relatively young reader is probably thinking 'Why didn't the old Penshunners stop heaving food at the birdies?' To which our other reader, being relatively old and experienced will no doubt reply 'Have you ever tried to stop YOUR granny feeding the birds?')



Copyright P.J.Fairbrother 2003/12


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