Glitch in the Matrix

(In much the same vein)

Picture a Roman-esque amphitheatre of garguntum size, brimming over to capacity (and slightly beyond) with hundreds of thousands of drably-clad people craning their necks to view, right in the centre of the scene, ten elderly gentleman seated on golden thrones.

The scene shifts, as our focus settles on the floorspace in the middle of the collosseum.

The council of wise men (and Pimpli the dwarf) convened.
Their flowing white eyebrows complemented their flowing white beards, which were completed by their flowing white robes. Standing in austere silence, they resembled a large herd of sombre, damp sheep. (except for Pimpli the dwarf, who was clad in dwarven chain emblazoned with a flowing white orchid motif, who looked more like a sightly obese traffic bollard)

"Gentleman," breathed GohDolf, the tallest, whitest and most flowing of the Coven(ant), "we are gathered here today, to bind in holy matrimon..."

(at this juncture, Pimpli pokes his battleaxe into GohDolf's knee and hands him an Ornate Scroll, bearing the Seal of Office)

"Ah yes" intones GohDolf gravely, peering over his Spectacles of Wisdom (+10) at the scroll borne in his hands, while subtly pushing aside the Seal of Office, which is currently for some reason juggling a small red and white ball on its nose.

"Dear peanuts," he booms, in a deep, resonant voice somewhat reminiscent of Whoopi Goldberg "This council is convened".

Pristinely white robes flow wisely as ten heads nod austerely in agreement. Pimpli's chain mail clinks a little.

"The fate of Little Earth hangs in the balance. We have deliberated this quandry for months on end, consulted with countless prophecies, consorted with priests, priestesses, almanacs, insurance agents and other heathen criminals; crunched numbers and thumbs, and broken a million heads..."

Pimpli's battleaxe falls to the ground with a clatter as he nods off. He wakes with a start and bends down to pick it up. This doesn't take long, since he doesn't have far to go.

GohDolf glares at him, and robes flowing most indignantly, continues. LeeGolast, Regent to the Elven Throne turns slightly glassy eyed and, if artistic licence was legal in Little Earth, might even be said to drool a little. Certainly the white froth flowing down his white beard complements his pristinely white robe rather prettily.

"and so it is that we have reached our decision."

The silence is punctuated only by the scratching of the scribes' pens, as they faithfully and responsibly record events as they are deemed suitable for the consumption of the masses, to be unfolding.

"Our population is diminishing. Our genes dwinding."

(several female commoners glance guiltily down at the large spaces that comprise the major parts of their blue denim leggings)

"There is only one solution."

(An Optrex blimp takes the opportunity to drift by subtly)

"We must have more mumbefudgefudgefudge".

Gasps from the crowd.
Hushed silence.

A little boy of three, only slightly taller than Pimpli turns to his mother, eyes round as saucers and squeaks. "Mummy, did the tall man say Sex?"

The focus shifts as the camera pans around in bullet time, meticulously recording the stark horror that bleeds slowly onto everyone's face at the sound of the Dreaded Word.

Hands slide agonisingly slowly towards throwing knives as Inquisition members garbed in blue leather react to this fatal transgression punishable by hanging, garrotting, tarring, feathering, and finally, execution...

The sun burns Whitely, as dozens of Inquisition Officers flow into action.

End scene.    # Re-minisce denies liability.3/04/2004 06:45:00 pm