Monday, 7 April 2014

Pulp Fiction: The Shadow Goes for the Messages

Even though the April haar was giving way to a smirr of rain, making the paving slabs shimmer with a Damask-like sheen, I knew my usual fedora, red scarf and upturned collar would not be enough to protect me. In this city riven by division, I would need my hoodie for an anonymous dander to the Cameron Toll commercial cathedral to buy some sustaining mince, tatties, breid and milk.

I needed to pick my time. Heading out in the gloaming may help hide me from the feral gangs of vile, vicious Cybernats roaming Auld Reekie with their deadly stickers.

I swallowed as I locked the front door. Earlier in the week, a Vile Cybernat ®™ had stuck a sticker on my office window. The experience had been terrifying. I can take personal abuse but it’s getting out of control. My office manager has not been able to sleep all week ­because of the threats and abuse he has been receiving, and I fear another member of my staff will quit because it is upsetting her so much. My own broad, whom I get the public to pay, was even a bit jittery. My whole operation was on the cusp of breakdown. It's not for nothing that I have the second highest office expenses in the British parliament. 

These were no shrinking violets. I'd deliberately left the last lot of OE gang graffiti on the door for 3 years to remind them that it was the mean, ghetto streets of The Grange they were occupying.  Having the office look like an eyesore helped it blend in.  I needed these people to be on top form, and they wouldn't be on top form as long as the Vile Cybernat ®™ Sticker Terror persisted. How could they be expected to concentrate on opening the mail and forwarding 98% of it for action to the appropriate MSP with nuclear Yes stickers irradiating them from the window?

But the first step was to get some breid, milk, mince and tatties. The Union Army marches on it stomach and hunger would only amplify their fear.

Any resemblance to "Anonymous" MP Ian Murray is entirely intentional.