Chapter Twenty Two
In an earlier edit of this, the second volume of We Free Prophets, I wrote of the problems I have encountered on writers’ sites over the years. I have decided to remove the majority of discourse in the final edit, and leave fate to decide whether my history as a writer will be examined or not.
To offer a brief summary from my perspective; I have long-since been regarded as a troll within the online writer’s community, and have been expelled from writers’ sites more times than I can recall. I did not set out with the intent of being a troll, although I recognised fate had dealt me a tricky hand as a writer, which included the internet troll card by default, and I admit to playing it, occasionally, especially when I encountered an overwhelming degree of animosity within the public forums of writers’ sites.
Perhaps this unfortunate hand, and the way I chose to play it, led to the sabotage of Privacy Anonymity and other Meaningless Words on one site, which encouraged me to rename it We Free Prophets.
And The Last Revolution being compared to Hitler’s Mein Kampf on another site, and someone suggesting they would like to hire someone to ‘rip out my sex organs with a claw hammer’.
And yet another site; one member who would like to extract my teeth with pliers. An image of my avatar in flames graces the same site to this day, and my real name – Martin Sharratt – not some unlikely pseudonym, has been plastered all over the public forums of writers’ sites and elsewhere too, I daresay; together with a wide variety of personal insults and comments not entirely unlike those aforementioned.
I suppose I have encountered so much animosity because of the nature of We Free Prophets, and my political and philosophical writings – for those trying to show a new path have arrows in their back, as they say. However; I have also enjoyed civil, intelligent debate with some fellow writers, and brief, fleeting friendships. I am most grateful for those experiences.
Sometimes, when the animosity became overbearing, I created threads where I divided into two personas and engaged in discussions with myself, or wallowed in rebarbative self pity. At other times I hopped around threads, depositing pellets of scatological wit. I often attempted to alleviate the tension with humour, which usually teetered on the border between absurdity and obscenity. Some found my odd, toiletry humour funny, while others considered it a symptom of poor mental health, and used their observation as yet another platform from which to insult me.
The animosity reached ominous proportions in 2016, when I was expelled from a popular writers’ site on an almost daily basis. The events leading to my expulsions may be difficult to decipher, for anyone wishing to do so, especially since the site has closed. The accounts I held were renamed ‘unnamed user’ after their deletion, and forum moderators deleted a number of threads and posts. They deleted the ‘claw hammer’ post, for instance, but evidence remained, since the post had been quoted in a reply.
One writers’ site I have been a member of, and expelled from on numerous occasions, relates, in some way, to the first site I became a member of in 2008 – Authonomy. When I joined the first time, I encountered a hostility I had grown accustomed to on Authonomy. Some rather rude moderators moved a thread I had created, regarding The Last Revolution, from General Discussion to a desolate forum on their sparsely populated site before deleting it completely, so I created a thread and insulted them with some venom. I suppose I finally lost my cool.
Shortly after they had expelled me, someone created a thread entitled ‘Message for Martin Sharratt’ but I was unable to respond until they allowed my membership, some seven months later. They expelled me on the same day, after I had written a few replies to their accusations in the thread. Ironically, they complained I had soiled someone’s good name, who had been creating threads on another site in an effort to have me expelled. I supposed their name a pseudonym, yet they thought nothing of dragging my real name through the mud, again. As I write, in June of 2020, the account in question seems as though it still active because the avatar remains.
Around the same time as the aforementioned fracas of 2016, I was invited to join a small writers’ site. Even though it seemed a parody of the site that relates to the now defunct Authonomy, I accepted their invitation, and once there, I had the rare opportunity to interact with writers who seemed as exasperated as I, regarding the behaviour of some writers on the indie writers’ scene. However; doing so resulted in a strange kind of war between sites and their members, within which I fought. Eventually, the site closed down, and I still do not know the reason. I have not heard from these writers for some years.
In a previous edit regarding this entire fiasco, I wrote of my hospitalisation for heart failure. Perhaps it would be unfair to say the situation was entirely responsible for my ill health, but I do believe it had more than just something to do with it.
Recently, during the final months of 2019, while searching for a writers’ site with an active public forum that would allow my membership, and much to my surprise, the site relating to Authonomy allowed me to join. Although someone told me to ‘fuck off’ as soon as I arrived – a post that was ‘liked’ by some other members – I spent weeks creating threads relating to The Last Revolution and other topics, but they expelled me in the beginning of this year, 2020, and deleted all I had written, even though it states clearly in their rules and regulations that a member’s threads would remain after their expulsion.
Unfortunately, since they attempt to exude an air of intellectuality, decorum and sincerity, I had counted on them keeping their word in this respect, even though experience had taught me otherwise. I supposed the threads would remain, if they expelled me, because I assumed they would appreciate the effort I had expended to create them. So, I was shocked to find they had deleted everything, and since I had not kept copies – as I had to reset my computer on a number of occasions because of the interference of hackers – I lost everything I had written.
While events were accumulating to form this final crescendo, I began writing a novella entitled The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen, in an effort to humour myself and others who were observing the whole scenario with raised eyebrows. The work is based on a thread with a similar title and theme, on the writers’ site that relates to Authonomy. The thread’s theme is that of a gentlemen’s club, where society’s elite congregate and women are not welcome.
I began to write the book on the thread, but they kept deleting my writing. Someone even tried to join in; they deleted their writing too. Their effort proved distracting, but I manipulated the plot of the first book to include their input, which remains to this day. Without the person’s influence, there would be no butter or kangaroos.
Relentless animosity fuelled a desire to create further books, which has resulted in a quartet; the last of which remains incomplete. Although the books are tainted with sorrow, and a dash of anger, they are works of humour, to a greater or lesser degree, albeit cringeworthy, at times – to reflect the childish wit I have oftentimes expressed during angst-ridden moments, and to illuminate the questionable qualities of those who consider themselves the elite of the world. I ridicule myself too, for one should not make fun of another if one is unable to laugh at one’s self.
After all; you have to laugh, as they say.
I hope you enjoy reading.
...... The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen – Uprising ......
Chapter One of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
A lofty shadows looms upon The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen’s towering oak doors, as a glov’d hand reaches towards a brass bell-pull protruding from the wall surrounding the door’s ornate frame. Once the creator of the lofty shadow has rang the doorbell, the club’s walls resound with the sound of Sir Richard’s lurching, clomping gait.
Ker-chump ... kerrr-chump ... ker-chump.
Below the waistband of Sir Richard’s much-loved-yet-little-washed cardigan swing the chapped tips of hideously elongated nipples – distorted as a result of a near lifetime’s pursuit of unsuccessfully nursing orphaned squirrels; the parents of which he had murdered with a catapult, so he could fulfill his unusual desire.
The fetish had spread from Sir Richard’s early youth and into his teenage years, twenties, thirties, forties and fifties, before ending abruptly after a terrible nightmare, in which a fearsome squirrel God screeched a warning in squirrel language, which he understood in the dream but could not recall when awake. Something to do with nuts, anyway.
His nipple tips shouldn’t be there, swinging so, but they have escaped the confines of his bro-ssiere once again.
Sir Richard is quite breathless by the time he reaches the club’s entrance, where he flops forward, slaps his hands upon his knees and farts unexpectedly. It is as loud as an aeroplane’s foghorn. Inbreeding, so rife within the elite, can cause a great many mental and physical disorders, and excessive flatulence is one cross among countless others Sir Richard must bear.
Sir Richard springs upright and grimaces, when he hears a muffled sniggering coming through a vent above the door. He curses under his breath – “women!” – opens the door and forces a smile, which fades more promptly than it had grown, once he sees who stands on the step with a suitcase resting at either side of their brogue’d feet.
“Ah! Sir Martin” – Sir Richard remarks, with more than a hint of disappointment.
“And Martin!” – a figure pipes up, cheerfully, while emerging from behind Sir Martin.
“And Martin too” – Sir Richard sighs. “What a surprise.”
“Well. Let me help you with your baggage” – Sir Richard suggests, while stepping forward and grasping a suitcase handle in each hand.
He hoists their considerable weight in defiance of gravity, farts, and pirouettes on one heel.
Having miscalculated the amount of effort required to perform an about-turn, he spins on one heel for quite some time – with the suitcases at arm’s length at either side of him – until he arrives at a halt, when he throws a slipper’d foot forward and begins to march through the club’s grand entrée towards a wide staircase. Sir Richard’s metronomic gait is punctuated by the sound of the suitcases crashing to the ground .
Ker ... thump ... chump ... kerrr ... thump ... chump ... ker ... thump ... chump.
With the buttons but useless adornments, having popped open during his gymnastic baggage handling, Sir Richard’s cardigan swings open, as if curtains announcing a stage production, presenting a pair of curiously elongated nipples with painful-looking chapped tips, which hop up and down and jiggle to and fro, as though attempting to write a message in mid-air – to say they have been flung from a bro-sseire and wish to be placed back there.
Sir Martin and Martin grimace every time a suitcase lands on the floor, and imagine increasingly numerous objects being destroyed by Sir Richard’s careless hosting. A loud, almost deafening fart erupts from Sir Richard, as though the sound has fallen through the ceiling and landed on him.
Sir Martin and Martin trail along behind Sir Richard, crouching together in silent conspiracy, with their hands covering their mouths in an effort to muffle their laughter, for they know they should not mock Sir Richard openly, since, despite his excessive flatulence and unfortunate physical appearance, defined by the aforementioned and other factors – such as Sir Richard’s teeth being somewhat green and pointy, and the flattened crown of his head reaching no further than one’s midriff – Sir Richard’s intelligence, biting wit, sarcasm and ‘I art greater than thou’ manner are forces to be reckoned with, and Sir Martin and Martin do not wish to get on his wrong side during their stay at The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen.
Chapter Two of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
Sir Richard scuttles up the staircase – like a dung beetle up a lavatory pipe – dragging the suitcases thumping up the stairs behind him, with what appear to be increasingly long arms. When he reaches the summit of the flight, the suitcases rest three steps down, and when he lets go of their handles, his arms slowly withdraw into his sleeves as the suitcases tumble towards the foot of the stairs.
“Why didn’t Bagarse take our suitcases?” – Martin enquires, while observing the suitcases’ descent.
“He informed me he would be returning shortly, some six months ago” – Sir Richard replies, while grating his teeth and staring sorrowfully towards a space resting well beyond the reaches of the lofty ceiling.
Sir Richard casts a frown down the stairs, as Sir Martin and Martin approach the landing carrying their rather battered-looking suitcases. Sir Martin and Martin smile warmly up the stairs in response, a moment before their expressions vacate their faces, when they become momentarily hypnotised by Sir Richard’s exposed nipples, which hang as two bell-ropes might in an abandoned church – oscillating slightly, as if encouraged to do so by unseen forces.
When Sir Martin and Martin reach the stair’s summit, Sir Richard snatches the suitcases from their hands and pirouettes smartly on one heel – with a degree of effort determined by hindsight – resulting in a perfect about-turn, and marches off along a long corridor;
Ker ... thump ... chump ... kerrr ... thump ... chump ... ker ... thump ... chump.
“Bagarse may never return, so I might as well get used to doing everything myself!” - Sir Richard screeches, while positioning his bushy monobrow high upon his forehead, in an effort to project an expression of absolute bewilderment.
“If a job’s worth doing; do it!” – he continues, pitifully.
“If you want something done; do it yourself!” – he screams at the door he has stopped in front of, before unhooking a key from a gathering of the same, hanging on his beltline.
Sir Richard lifts the key towards the door’s lock, but the key seems repelled by the door, as though by reversed magnetism. He lifts it again, with a wrench of his spindly, yet fairly powerful arm. The key almost reaches the lock before being drawn back to the bunch, as if by an invisible force. This occurs again and again with each effort.
“W-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-O-W!” – Sir Richard squeals, eventually, while wrapping his arms several times around his head.
The reason for the key’s reluctance to arrive at its destination has become apparent – one of Sir Richard’s nipples has become entangled with the bunch of keys, and the chapped tip is wrapped around the key he hopes to use, leaving the nipple itself to act as a length of rubbery resistance.
He frees the nipple from the key and stuffs it back into his bro-sseire, raises the key once more, unlocks the door, opens it, and steps into the resulting room.
“Your room, gentlemen” – Sir Richard announces, with a majestic sweep of a hand through stale air, which encourages a pack of dust dogs to swirl upon the grimy carpet, as if each were attempting to sniff another’s bottom.
“I trust to see you at supper, this evening, at eight?” – Sir Richard enquires, as he exits the room, leaving Sir Martin and Martin to share a moment of disbelief.
“What’s happened to The Imperialist Club?” – Martin asks. “Why did Sir Richard take our cases and show us to our room? Where is Bagarse? He has spent his entire life as a butler in the club.”
“I don’t know” – Sir Martin concludes, while wringing his hands as though trying to remove a layer of dry UHU before someone assume it something else – “but we’re going to get to the bottom of this and help Sir Richard if we are able!”
Chapter Three of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
Sounds that suggest compressed springs being released in jelly, or someone standing repeatedly on a duck, envelop the trio in The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen’s dining room, for they are all ravenously hungry.
Sir Martin and Martin sit side by side at the head of a grand oak table, at the other end of which Sir Richard sits. Sir Martin and Martin’s heads hang sadly over their plates, where a single blackened, yet raw potato and a pile of white powder rest, which, they have yet to discover, is flour.
A white cloud swirls upon Sir Richard’s flat crown and cascades over his eyes, leaving only his mouth visible, noisily chewing raw potato.
Martin licks a finger, dips it in the flour, sucks it and rolls his eyes towards the ceiling, while Sir Martin cradles a potato in his hands and mutters – “thank heaven; at least it is slightly warm.”
“Have the potatoes been cooked using electricity?” – Sir Martin asks.
“No. I cooked them over a candle, after I had parboiled them in my underpants” – Sir Richards clarifies. “The latter being something I don’t bother to do when alone” – he adds.
“Don’t you have electricity?” – Martin continues – “and where are the staff?”
“Woe!” – Sir Richard shouts, suddenly, and with great vigour, as he springs from his chair and emerges from a billowing white cloud like a ghost. Sir Richard stamps a foot, grimaces, as though into the eyes of a cruel fate, and hurls his half-eaten potato with all his might, which hits Martin square on the nose to the sound of a car’s horn.
“Where is Bagarse? Mr Goatsbottom? Where are those stout and goodly gentlemen?” – Sir Richard cries towards the heavens, even though he knows there will be no reply.
“The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen is no more!” – Sir Richard announces, shrilly.
“Everyone has left, leaving only my good self to uphold its tradition, and I have neither the energy, the funds nor the will to do it any longer!” – he wails.
“My goodness!” – Sir Martin exclaims.
“Woe!” – trills Sir Richard, as he scuttles past the seated friends, with the back of one hand placed dramatically upon his upturned brow and his nipples flailing in his wake, as though flags announcing defeat.
Sir Richard expands, with drawn breath, rather than the traditional exhalation as he vacates the room.
“What can we do to help him?” – Sir Martin asks Martin, who rubs his nose, smiles brightly and says – “well, for a start off we should arrange to have the electricity restored, and the larder filled with lashings of fine foods and wine!”
“Indeed! And then we should try to find out what has led the club to fall into such disrepair, and Sir Richard; the depths of despair.”
A car horn sounds again, which encourages Martin to duck under the table and cup his hands over his nose, while casting anxious glances in all directions, which he hopes will have the power to locate projectile potatoes.
Sir Martin draws a grimy curtain aside to reveal a grimy window, through which he squints towards a car park, upon which a grimy car is parked.
“Well, I never. Look who’s just turned up!” – he exclaims.
Chapter Four of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
Sir Richard wakes the following morning, springs out of bed and begins to clean his teeth. Or rather; he gnaws upon a skirting board, which cleans them. He has gnawed every wooden object in his room, with skirting boards being his last choice, since he must rest on all fours to perform the task. His dismally frayed room reminds him of times when funds allowed him to purchase an organic toothpaste, which left his teeth gleaming like emeralds in a mine.
Sir Richard breathes heavily through bellowing nostrils, with his long, pointy chin resting upon his cavernous chest, as he carefully coils his nipples inside a bro-sseire. Once the task is complete, he buttons a shirt and pulls his cardigan over it, while vigorously shaking each arm, so the shirt sleeves rest comfortably within those of the cardigan. The effort encourages his nipples to leap from the bro-sseire and unfurl along the length of his sleeves, until their tips pop out of the cuffs. The nipple tips convulse and twitch like hideous, beckoning fingers, as he hops downstairs as nimbly as he is able with underpants crammed with potatoes, and scuttles towards the kitchen, where he intends to make breakfast for his guests.
Mid-way along the corridor leading to the kitchen, Sir Richard’s head tilts suddenly backwards and he arrives at an abrupt standstill – as though the tip of his long, gnarled nose has been grasped by the aromas wafting from the dining room.
Sir Richard peers cautiously into the room, where bright electric light illuminates Sir Martin presenting a seated Martin with a large bowl of porridge. Seeing the same resting at his end of the table, Sir Richard scampers towards it, hops onto his chair, rests his elbows on the table, and cups his chilly hands over the steaming bowl of piping hot gröt.
“Aaaaaah” – Sir Richard sighs, gratefully.
And then – “aaaah-ah-AH-ah-ow-OW-ow-ah-AH-AH-AH!” – when information from his chapped nipple-tips suggest they are immersed in the bowl of scalding porridge.
Sir Richard screeches, as two searing bolts of pain shoot along the length of his nipples and into his chest. He is thrown backwards off his chair, as if the interaction betwixt nipple-tips and hot porridge formed a powerful organic defibrillator.
Sir Richard rolls head over heels until he reaches a standstill in a far corner of the room; upside down, resting upon his flattened crown, and in a cross-legged position, like a guru.
“Whoh whah a cah ah hur las nih? Hu wa ih?” – Sir Richard enquires, while soothing the tips of his throbbing nipples by sucking them.
“I’m sorry?” – Sir Martin replies, as he approaches Sir Richard with a cautious, bobbing gait, and a hand cupped behind each ear.
Sir Richard heaves a sigh of exasperation, which blows his nipples from his mouth, and shouts – “I said; was that a car I heard last night? Who was it?” – as though Sir Martin were deaf.
“Ah! Yes. It was a car. Who was it? Well .... I thought it was Lord Bertie Bendover, but it wasn’t.”
“Who was it then?” – Sir Richard enthuses.
“I have no idea. The car drove away. I suppose whoever it was came to deliver this letter” – Sir Martin concludes.
Sir Richard unfurls from his upside-down, cross-legged position, rises to his feet and scurries across the floor until he reaches Sir Martin, whom he snatches the letter from, before scampering towards his chair, which he pushes upright and clambers upon, like a schoolboy onto the roof of a tuck shop.
He sits, rips open the envelope, unfolds the letter, and begins to read. Sir Richard begins to rise dramatically, as if its contents disclose some great revelation – followed by his steaming nipple-tips, emerging once more from the bowl of piping hot porridge.
After spending some moments standing upon his chair, with his eyes wide-open and staring intently, as though into a frightening vision of the future, and his mouth forming a silent – ‘w-o-o-o-o-o-o-w’ – in response to a melange of shock and incredible pain, he seats himself once more and slowly pushes the bowl aside.
“Well .... this doesn’t make any sense whatsoever!” – he says, some time after his reading has resumed.
Sir Martin hurries over to Sir Richard, cocks his head to one side and says – “it’s upside down.”
“Ah .... yes .... of course” – Sir Richard mutters, as he twists the letter one hundred and eighty degrees in a clockwise direction, and then anticlockwise, two hundred and seventy degrees, a moment in advance of rapidly rotating it seven hundred and twenty degrees in a clockwise direction – a series of actions he performs nine times in total. Once the letter has arrived at rest, Sir Richard glares at it from under his wild monobrow.
“Have .... secured .... further .... funding .... arriving …. tomorrow …. at …. noon.”
Sir Richard reads aloud, while the tip of his long, gnarled nose trails over the handwriting beneath the line he is reading, while secreting a stream of thick, green snot.
“Ugh!” – Sir Richard exclaims. “The handwriting beneath the line I have just read is covered with thick, green snot, rendering it illegible. Now I don’t know who or how many to expect, which means I must prepare all the rooms. Oh. Well. Never mind! This is the moment I’ve been waiting for! Gentlemen! I pray you will help me; let’s get to work at once!”
“Yes! Of course we will help you, Sir Richard!” – the Martins pipe up, in enthusiastic simultaneity.
“All of the rooms?” – Martin whispers to Sir Martin. “Even the ones in the West Wing, where we have not been allowed to venture without permission, which has not been granted, until now?”
“Yes .... I suppose we have been given permission .… sort of!” – Sir Martin chortles.
They hurry through to the kitchen, where they grab pails and mops, before sprinting up the stairs and running along a long corridor until they reach it’s apparent end, where a dusty oak door towers in front of them. Martin grasps the door’s handle and twists it until he hears a loud click.
“Ow! My wrist! – Martin groans, while vigorously flapping a hand, as though waving to someone passing by at the speed of light.
Martin grasps the door handle tightly with both hands and twists it with all his might. The door handle snaps off, revealing a small red sticker upon its inner-side – ‘Ikea’ – a moment before a waft of stale air swirls around the two friends and the door creaks open, revealing a continuation of the corridor. Sir Martin and Martin march through a swarm of sun-lit dust motes, with mops and pails forgotten, until they stop at the first door they encounter, which they open before entering a spacious room.
They are surrounded at once by an array of tall wooden cabinets, hosting a display of bottles and jars in all shapes and sizes. Each has a label stuck upon it, and a specimen of some kind floating within. In one; a twisted, misshapen foot, with a label reading ‘Michael Foot’s foot’. And in another; what seems to be two enormous hairy caterpillars with ‘Dennis Healey’s eyebrows’ written on the label.
“What is all this stuff?” – Martin hisses. “It’s hideous!”
“They seem to be body parts of British politicians” – Sir Martin supposes.
“But look!” – Martin exclaims – “a long, gnarled nose. An unkempt monobrow. A gigantic knee. Although they have no labels, the specimens in these jars correlate with Sir Richard!”
“Your assumption seems correct, Martin! Are they Sir Richard spare parts? Do you think Sir Richard’s been made up of .... well …. bits and pieces? Or has someone been making more of him? Or fixing him?” – Sir Martin wonders, while casting glances of concern around the room, like a neurotic elderly person feeding bread to ducks in a pond.
“Or have Sir Richard and the members of the club been tinkering with genetic engineering, and have stopped because they ran out of funds? And that’s what it meant in the letter when it said they have secured further funding?” – Martin asks, while his fingertips pitter-patter along his nervously quivering lips.
“Well, yes. I suppose that would make sense” – Sir Martin agrees – “but what are they trying to create? A melange of Sir Richard and a number of British politicians? A kind of super politician?”
“I don’t know; but you may be right. Sir Richard has no sense of morality when it comes to his obsession with The Imperialist Club’s revolution, and his ego is so overwhelming that he may wish their creation to represent him. Hmmm .... I wonder what’s under this green tarpaulin. It seems to be covering a human figure of some two, three, or perhaps four or five meters in height. Perhaps it hides the fruit of their labours!” – Martin says, as he gingerly grasps a corner of the tarp between thumb and forefinger and begins to lift it.
“Shhhh!” – Sir Martin warns – “I think I hear something!”
Martin releases the tarp and an impressive fear fart.
Sir Martin snigger-snorks.
The two friends muffle snigger-snorks until they fall almost silent, when they hear a distant ker-chump in the corridor outside.
“Oh no! Sir Richard!” – farts Martin, in response to a sense of terror.
“What can we do?” – Sir Martin farts.
As if each thinks the same, they dart across the room and struggle into a space between a display case and wall. Their muffled snigger-snorks cause the whole display case and its contents to reverberate loudly in the silence of the room, which is becoming increasingly insulted by the foul-smelling fear-flatulence the two have emitted. The ker-chump approaches until it stops, for an instant, and then grows louder, after a click that announces Sir Richard has entered the room.
“OoF! Gadzooks! What a whiff” – Sir Richard grumbles, and then – “why are these specimens rattling so?” – a moment before Sir Martin and Martin’s faces are covered with handkerchiefs soaked in a strange, immediately intoxicating substance which smells remarkably like butter.
Chapter Five of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
“Can one use nipple-truncheons to extract fluff from a kangaroo’s pocket?” – Sir Martin enquires upon awakening.
There is no response.
“Be sure to cover your eyes with a lady-boy-towelette before applying pressure to the sphincter-spanner.” – he continues, while sternly waggling a finger.
Once his surroundings and brain have swam into focus, Sir Martin lurches across the room and shakes Martin’s shoulder.
“Remember; a faece-cloth may be used in the stead of rectum-rags when draining scrotum-tubing .… ummmm .... no .... I mean .... no! …. wake up, Martin! .... I had the most terrible dream about a kangaroo that threw me into a cellar and tied my hands behind my back! And its snotty handkerchief around my mouth! I couldn’t open the door or shout for help!”
Sir Martin is suddenly disturbed by a vivid recollection of the kangaroo tying its snotty handkerchief around his mouth and tasting it, accidentally, when his tongue popped out when he retched.
“W-h-u-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-g-h!” – Sir Martin retches.
“W-h-u-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-g-h! A kangaroo’s handkerchief!” – he continues.
“W-h-u-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-g-h!” – he persists, until Martin finally wakes and pulls his duvet over his head; quite certain his alarm will be someone vomiting on him.
“My thermosflask has chapped inner thighs and I have ran out of bunion-gloss and pube jam.” – Martin manages, when he sees his friend standing next to the bed.
“Oh! thank goodness you are alright!” – Sir Martin sighs with relief.
“Ding-along with käk …. doi-didilli-furdle parp? .... I’ll give you a fiver for the manure truss” – Martin elaborates, once his head has cleared a little. “I mean .... how long have I slept; it feels like days?”
“Yes. I’m quite sure you’re right. I have been sleeping too. While you are recovering, I’ll check out the room we found, and then the dining room, to see if any guests have turned up!” – Sir Martin replies, as he exits the bedchamber and sprints along the long corridor.
When he arrives at the hefty oak door, he finds it has been fitted with a neat row of bolts, so he performs an about turn and hurries downstairs. Martin sighs, tosses back the bedcovers, greets his erection, dresses, and begins to search for Sir Martin.
Once they are reunited, Sir Martin and Martin peek through the dining room door’s keyhole. They observe a number of guests feasting upon the larder’s newly acquired wealth, while gathered in a semi-circle around Sir Richard, who walks in tight circles upon the soles of leather riding boots, which audibly chaff his inner-thighs as lederhosen billow and deflate in accordance with his metronomic gait. Beads of sweat glisten upon his wide, oblong brow as his gaze sweeps the floor, before rising to penetrate the souls of his guests.
“Now it is time!” – Sir Richard screeches, while swinging a stout, wooden cane – “for Britain’s elite to dominate the world! To reap whatever we can from the unwashed, uneducated lower strata of society! The ninety-nine percent who oppress us! The proletariat! To employ them in our lives as the farm animals they really are!”
Sir Richard stops abruptly and lowers his head, until his long, pointy chin rests upon the silver crook of his cane.
“To use them to generate the wealth necessary to obtain power, which will ensure America’s might will fade into insignificance when compared to Britain’s!” – he hisses conspiringly, as he leans towards the club’s gathering of guests.
“To return to the colonies! To pick up where we left off! To oversee the sugar plantations in the manner of our ancestors!” – he continues, feverishly; his eyes glowing as though someone were shining a powerful torch up his bottom.
“To stride gallantly from one land to the next, striking many a coloured crown in our noble wake, and mocking their silly, imaginary Gods while exalting our own! So we may look forward to a time when the planet is under our control! A time when Great Britain will be great again!” – Sir Richard shrieks towards the heavens, as he topples forward onto the dining room’s floor.
“VIVE LA RÉVOLUTION!” – he yodels, from his recumbent position, while holding his stout cane firmly aloft.
“VIVE LA RÉVOLUTION!” – the guests cheer enthusiastically.
Sir Martin and Martin’s mouths drop open and clamp to. And drop and clamp and drop and clamp and drop and clamp and drop and clamp and drop, while generating a m’lop, m’lop, m’lop sound, as though a freshly plucked, wet budgerigar were flapping around their heads.
They have heard and seen enough. They scamper from the dining room and along a corridor until they reach The Imperialist Club’s library. There is no one there, so they saunter into the room and heave sighs of exasperation.
“Wow!” – Martin exclaims. “It seems they are launching their revolution to totally empower government – or the oppressed – and completely undermine the people; the oppressors!”
“Well” – Sir Martin says, as he selects a random book from a bookshelf, before flopping into an armchair and beginning to skim through its pages.
“One only need use maths to determine that the elite one percent of society are the ones being oppressed, and the ninety nine percent are the oppressors. Yet; I have always thought it necessary to maintain a balance of some kind, so I fear The Imperialist Club’s revolution may be taking everything a step too far. In fact; it rather sounds like a plan for world domination, but what can one do?”
After some minutes’ silence, Sir Martin says – “but look here! This book by Martin Sharratt may offer a strategy the majority could employ to allow that balance.”
“Yes, another, and I remember him. He joined The Imperialist Club some time ago, but they expelled him because he turned out to be a rebel. He was rumbled when he tried to read a book he had written aloud in the club, and I think it was this one; The Last Revolution. Sir Richard and his guests destroyed most of the writing he produced while visiting the club, but they must have overlooked this book, and this is what Martin has to say in the second chapter;
An almost insignificant percentage of humankind began to direct the advance of civilisation some five thousand years ago, in the Sumerian City State, and the scenario persists until our present day. We have grown accustomed to being governed by a tiny proportion of our kind, during this period of time, and may believe this manner of governance will continue until the end of our time, and find it difficult to imagine an alternative.
Even those who live in democracies can see their opinions do not form the societies they live in, because they are not asked for their opinions. They observe the world growing around them, yet have little or no impact relating to its design. In effect, all democracy means is that the majority may choose the minority who supposedly represent them in the world’s political arena, and design the societies they live in, even though the dictionary definition of the term states the power of government is held within the hands of the majority;
Democracy: ‘Government by the people; a form of government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised directly by them, or by their elected agents under a free electoral system.’
The dictionary definition suggests its true meaning, from the point where it began, in Ancient Greece, in around 500 BC. Otherwise known as Athenian Democracy, the system allowed an ever-increasing percentage of the majority to participate in their society’s design.
Although the original manner of democracy seems to have been replaced by systems of rule that use the term, yet seem closer to dictatorships, the form of democracy where ‘the supreme power is vested in the people’ is becoming an increasingly plausible means of governance.
To consider how the Internet may be used to sculpt such a transformation, we should reduce the concept to a basic, simplistic form;
A country’s political system could be transformed, to accommodate true, interactive democracy, by creating a site on the Internet, linked to government, where citizens unite to create the policies and amendments forming their society, and cast votes to determine whether or not they should be implemented.
Should this manner of governance spread to envelop the world’s political arena, a global version of the site should be constructed, which would represent a Global Democracy.
Although it would be modified considerably, a country’s government would remain intact, but instead of politicians dictating how a country’s people should live, they would be orchestrating the will of the masses.
The elected representative of the people, such as a president or prime minister, would act as an ambassador, reflecting the will and nature of their country’s people, rather than the political party they represent and their own self-serving interests.
Before considering the concept in greater depth, we should name the website, which would connect to existing governments, so we may relate to it with ease. Let’s call the global version of the website the Consensus of World Opinion – the CWO – pronounced ‘quo’, as in Status Quo, and differentiate between it and the sites existing in each country by adding the country’s suffix – the cwo.fi – and so forth.
We should also consider the website in a physical sense;
If one imagines the CWO as a bicycle wheel, with its centre – the hub – as a central forum, where citizens cast the votes that decide whether policies or amendments should be implemented into their society, or not, and offer opinions regarding society in an all-encompassing sense, and in the global version of the site; the casting of votes that determine whether or not policies and amendments should be implemented on a global scale, to become universal law, and to address concerns regarding global civilisation as an entity.
The spaces between the spokes of the wheel represent smaller forums, each of which relates to a particular element of society, such as public transportation, healthcare, education, and so on.
Within this system of democracy, when a citizen is eighteen, they would be given the right to voice an opinion relating to their profession. For instance; a dentist may offer an opinion regarding the environment within which they, their colleagues and patients interact. The same would be true for all professions. Teachers, professors, mature students, and those conducting research within the field of education would create the education system, and so forth.
Each forum should be overseen by a minister or secretary. For example; the forum relating to education should be overseen by an elected representative, who would act as the minister or secretary of education.
Opinions should be restricted to one per person, which may not be edited once they have been submitted. This would prevent confusion, and the forums from becoming flooded with opinions. Opinions should also be submitted anonymously, so a following would not be generated through social influence.There should also be a maximum word-count of around one hundred words, so opinions may be read in a short space of time.
A simple voting system of ‘like’ and ‘dislike’ would reveal an opinion’s popularity, and allow popular opinions to rise within the forums, and encourage unpopular opinions to sink to obscurity.
Once an opinion has reached a certain level of popularity, comments relating to the opinion should be allowed, with the same limiting criteria as opinions and an identical manner of voting, which would indicate the popularity or unpopularity of comments. In this manner, a policy or amendment would be created.
The most popular policies or amendments should be harvested by the ministers or secretaries overseeing the forums, who would present them in the central forum for the approval or disapproval of the country’s citizens, which would be determined through the same manner of voting.
In essence; the purpose of the CWO would be to create a country’s society through the interaction of a country’s people, and a global civilisation through international debate.”
Chapter Six of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
“But what does it mean?” – Martin asks, while adopting an expression suggesting he hasn’t understood most of it, and has only partially understood that which he happened to understand.
“What it means is if a website were to exist, which Martin Sharratt calls the CWO, the people would be able to use it to create a true democracy – governance by the people; the very opposite of The Imperialist Club’s revolution – which would create a balance of some kind, I suppose. Or perhaps each revolution would cancel the other out, so things would remain as they are. We could make the first version of the CWO and launch the website here, in Britain.”
“OH! But that is most certainly against club rules!” – Martin cries – “and everything the club stands for! The Imperialist Club stands for .... well …. imperialism! Its roots rest in an era when the rich were phenomenally rich and the poor; equally as poor. The members of The Imperialist Club long for a time akin to the days when the proletariat listened to George Formby, and ate reams of toast washed down with gallons of inferior quality tea. When the masses stood in awe of government, because they had managed to orchestrate victory during the Second World War!”
“Yes, but I am beginning to wonder whether it is nothing but irony, since wars are caused by governments, and it seems both victory and defeat announce the threat of even bigger wars.”
“Irony? What do you mean?” – Martin asks, as he senses the cold air of reason gusting between the splayed legs of his political stance.
“I mean; despite their overwhelming numbers, have you ever thought it may be the majority who feel the most oppressed?” – Sir Martin replies, as he ruffles his hair and studies the intricate weave of the Axminster between his feet. “That people like the hippies and the punks may be right? Recently, I’ve been thinking that I’m not sure how much I like Sir Richard, or any of the guests, for that matter, or indeed; what The Imperialist Club represents. I think I may like people more. You know; the oppressors? I mean; I think my thinking resonates increasingly with the majority.”
Martin regards Sir Martin steadily, for a moment, before lowering his head to address the carpet between his feet.
“Yes. I do know what you mean. I was listening to some of their .... um .... music …. accidentally, of course, some time ago …. again .... and couldn’t help but notice they have something the members of The Imperialist Club don’t have – a genuine compassion and love for one another, which seems contrary to the fake decorum we witness here in the club; a manner that seems to mask a desire to clamber over another in the pursuit of power and standing in society.”
“Yes, I had a similar experience” – Sir Martin expands. “I bumped into some articles, written by members of the majority .... on the internet .... unintentionally, as I was searching for a site selling brogues .... and witnessed a sense of urgency regarding topics such as climate change and nuclear warfare, which are issues brushed aside in conversations between politicians here in the club.”
“Hmmm .... yes .... it seems our allegiance is swaying” – Martin ponders.
“So it seems, dear friend. Let’s continue to observe Sir Richard and his guests, to see if our observations further our allegiance with the majority!” – Sir Martin concludes, as he rises to his feet in a determined manner.
They arrive at the dining room’s door, and peer into the room where Sir Richard and his guests have gathered. A Sir Snorticle-Snork sits deep within a crimson leather armchair, with a rolled up copy of The Daily Mail gripped in one hand, which he intermittently attempts to jam into Sir Richard’s lederhosen-clad bottom, jutting ceiling-wards from a nearby sofa.
“Mmfff .… fibble …. Trump! .... burble …. ’tward …. Clinton! .... The Observer!” – he mutters between efforts. His face glistens with butter, as does the seat of Sir Richard’s lederhosen.
“It seems they have taken a terrible drug in excess” – Sir Martin remarks, as he observes a Sir Fewewowoshaskosha banging maniacally upon a brass gong.
Sir Richard scuttles away from Sir Snorticle-Snork and around an expansive Persian rug, on all fours, like a beetle – with the rolled up newspaper protruding from a hole in his lederhosen – while stopping occasionally to bark and snap at the ghosts of long-since departed squirrels.
Martin lifts the butter dish to his nose and pouts. “This smells like the handkerchiefs used to render us unconscious. I suppose Sir Richard prepared the concoction using butter, forgot, and they have inadvertently spread it upon their morning crumpets, and ingested amounts suffice to produce the effects we now witness” – he assumes, with the sweep of an arm, as though he has just created the scene.
“Yes, I think you are right” – Sir Martin agrees, as he frowns at a tiny, bearded Lord Grup-phart, who is eating handfulls of salt, while attempting to maintain his balance upon the summit of a pile of teetering cushions.
After some time, the Lord cascades to the floor, screeching – “VIVE LA RÉVOLUTION!” – before arriving at a tumbling standstill at the feet of a chair, within which a frail old duke lies slumped, seemingly dead from an overdose.
“The terrible thing” – Martin begins – “is that, despite how it may seem at this moment in time, The Imperialist Club’s revolution is more likely to succeed than a people’s revolution, because their ilk are already in power. Governments only need step it up a notch.”
Sir Martin thoughtfully massages his chin, cocks an eyebrow and announces – “well, then! The people will need all the help they can get! We must act accordingly, and with haste! I sense my allegiance with majority grows by the minute!”
“Our allegiance grows as one force!” – Martin exclaims, triumphantly.
Sir Martin and Martin leave the hubbub of the club and stroll through the wild, overgrown garden towards a wide expanse of slowly flowing river, where they make themselves comfortable at the roots of a weeping willow, and gaze thoughtfully into the river’s gentle wake.
“It really is a shambles” – Sir Martin sighs, sorrowfully.
“Yes. And they’re hardly any better when they’re sober” – Martin adds.
“Well. Let us forget those buffoons and consider the third chapter of The Last Revolution, with the hope of gleaning further insight into the task we are faced with” – Sir Martin suggests, before he begins to read aloud;
“It may take some time for a Global Democracy to develop, since there are many obstacles to consider, such as language barriers and availability of the Internet, so the journey towards a Global Democracy would begin with the creation of CWO websites within countries.
The first versions of the CWO should be presented to a country’s citizens as a model, representing an alternative means of government, within which truly democratic societies would begin to form – in an experimental sense, at first.
This would allow an opportunity for solutions to be engineered regarding any problems that may be encountered, and the fine tuning of the concept itself. For instance; the criteria, apart from an age restriction, that would determine who could and who could not participate in a country’s interactive democracy – in effect; to become an element of the greatly increased number of a country’s politicians.
Also, since each participant would not propose a radically different policy or amendment, or comment regarding those deemed most popular, software should be developed to categorise opinions and comments.
Since a model of the CWO would be informal, and the age restriction of eighteen difficult to impose, a computer’s IP address should be considered as a manner of registration, which would hinder the creation of ‘sock accounts’.
As described in chapter two; the site should contain a central forum, to represent a country’s government in an all-enveloping sense, and smaller forums, representing the various elements of society.
Even though this may be regarded as nothing more than a political game, the implications are astounding. Should the game become popular, and CWO websites spread from one country to another, a sense of Global Democracy would begin to develop, since the citizens of each country would be preparing a model of their truly democratic society.
When the civilian population of a country feel they have the confidence to demand true democracy – since they have created a model of society far superior to the actual society within which they reside – their country’s version of the CWO would connect directly to their existing government.
Once this has occurred, the informal registration of an IP address should be replaced by a formal system of registration, as there is now in so-called democratic countries. The system would also allow citizens to elect presidents, prime ministers, and other members of government. The task of government representatives would be to ensure policies and amendments are implemented into society, and to act as ambassadors, providing a voice that truly represents their country’s people.
Needless to say; governments will not allow this manner of democracy to replace their current political systems willingly, and the police and armed forces are employed to defend those who govern. Yet, if the police and armed forces were able to discuss their role in society, as any civilian may theirs, they would be as much a part of society’s reform as the civilian population.
Not only would this ensure a peaceful revolution, it would also affect the mechanism of warfare, since members of the armed forces would be able to voice their opinions, instead of being used by governments as though they are as thoughtless and unfeeling as the weaponry they operate.
However; when a country’s government is overthrown in favour of Civilian Rule, the country’s military should remain intact until the entire planet is liberated, otherwise liberated countries would be defenceless against those still governed by current political institutions.
Peace on Earth is democracy’s ultimate reward; awarded when disarmament may be achieved on a global scale. Unfortunately, until the world becomes a democratic entity, where a minority wishing to achieve dominion will be halted by the majority, there will always be war and conflict.
One reason for the world’s aggression is that politics is predominately male orientated, at present, as it has been throughout political history. When there is an equal balance of male and female rule, it seems reasonable to assume the planet’s political infrastructure will reflect the qualities of family, and humankind’s natural, altruistic nature, rather than the protective/ aggressive male instinct.”
Chapter Seven of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
“Well! There we go!” – Sir Martin exclaims. “Pretty much all we need to know to be able to construct the CWO! Now, we’re going to need some serious memory for this. Some mega RAM. So, let’s ransack the club in search of computers!”
They nod in affirmation, and leave the river’s serene banks to walk together, side by side, to The Imperialist Club’s entrance, through which they pass, before ambling along a long, portrait-studded hallway to the library, where they begin their search. Sir Martin and Martin weave their way through rooms until they meet at the summit of the club’s staircase, with each cradling three pc towers in the crooks of their arms.
“Wow! What RAM!” – Sir Martin exclaims, gleefully, as they stride towards their bedchamber – “and they won’t be missed. I remember Sir Richard bought them years ago, but it seems he didn’t get around to setting them up – they were still in their boxes!”
“The ones I found were too!” – Martin chortles.
They leave the computers in their bedchamber, before sprinting along the long corridor towards the oak door.
“Oh No!” – Martin exclaims. “The door has been reinforced with a great number of bolts. We will never manage to open it!”
“Wait!” – Sir Martin commands, while holding up a hand like a stop sign. “The bolts are placed on this side of the door, which means that whoever fitted them is trying to keep something in, rather than prevent anyone from entering.”
“By Jove, you may be right; unless they have fitted them on the wrong side as a consequence of their inebriation!” – Martin smiles, as he slides back bolt after bolt until he reaches a brand-new door handle, which he turns until the handle snaps off at its stem, revealing a sticker on its inner-side – Ikea.
Stale air swirls visibly around Sir Martin and Martin as they march down the corridor towards the room they discovered some days before. The door is open a fraction. They open the door a fraction more and peep inside the room. They close the door two fractions and stare at each other with mouths agape, before opening the door two fractions and peeping inside the room.
“E-e-e-e-e-w!” – they hiss, in response to their enlightenment.
“Is that you at the door, Sir Richard?” – shrieks a gritty, yet feminine voice.
“Oh! Sir Richard! I want you so!” – the voice continues, increasingly shriekingly and with a rising tone of agitation – “BUT WE CANNOT COPULATE BECAUSE I MUST POPULATE!” – she screams.
The final word is punctuated by a loud – ‘POP!’ – which announces the birth of a baby – or a baby’s body, rather, with a fully grown man’s head, which closely resembles David Cameron’s – slithering across the floor at such incredible velocity that its umbillyidol cord snaps in twain.
Sir Martin and Martin’s colons curdle as they open the door wider and fully observe the room; full of white-robed lab technicians and scientists, either working at benches or gathered around a giant creature – hardly recognisable as a woman – laying upon the floor with her enormous legs yawning open, from between which another baby appears to be emerging.
A loud – ‘POP!’ – is followed closely by a – ‘BANG!’ – and then a long, kind of drawn out – ‘f-f-f-f-h-h-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-t-t-t-t!’ – before an airborne baby, with the head of Ronald Reagan, is carried towards Sir Martin and Martin upon a phenomenal guff of fousty pubolic flat, which parts their hair and blasts their warped-with-distaste faces.
It is only a matter of seconds before another head begins to emerge from the dark, innermost reaches of the being’s innermost thighs. The baby’s adult-sized face is the perfect likeness of Barack Obama.
“Oh no! A burnt one! Been in the oven too long!” – the lady creature wails, when she sees the reflection of her latest child in a birthing mirror on the other side of the room.
“I’m not burnt. I happen to be America’s first black president!” – Barack retorts, and waves amicably.
“A black president?!” – the she-being screeches with disbelief.
“Well .... y-e-e-e-s” – Barack replies.
“W-O-o-o-O-o-o-o-o-o-O-W! What’s the world coming to? When did you say there would be an Imperialist revolution, Sir Richard? .... Sir Richard? .... Sir Richard? .... Sir Richard? .... Sir Richard? .... Sir Richard .... Sir Richard? .... Sir Richard? .... Sir Richard? .... how many politician clones do we need? And why are there suddenly American Presidents being born? Oh! I have had enough already! I so wish I could stop” – she moans, while clamping her thighs together in an attempt to prevent a further birth.
The clamping proves ineffectual. Barack skitters across the floor, followed by a loud – ‘PAI-YIP!’ – and then a – ‘BAI-YING!’ – and a – ‘f-f-f-f-h-h-r-r-r-r-r-r-t-t-t!’ – and a sort of – ‘p-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-t-t!’ – and then a kind of – ‘f-h-h-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-s-s-t-t-t!’ – together with a cacophony of strange and unpleasant noises that announce the arrival of a Jimmy Carter baby, which shoots from between the being’s clenched thighs as though a poorly inserted suppository from a soapy bottom, before sailing through the air and landing with a plop on the creature’s enormous breasts.
“Oh! How hideous!” – Martin gasps, as he clicks the door closed.
“So, Sir Richard and his guests have been conducting genetic experiments, and this is the result of their labour; a sort of appalling mutation of Mitochondrial Eve, giving birth to the first clones of politicians rather than the first Homo sapiens!” – Sir Martin presumes.
Martin stands transfixed. “And .... the….. s-m-e-e-e-e-l-l-l!” – he complains.
“Indeed” – Sir Martin agrees, while forming a cup with his right hand and retching loudly into it.
“W-h-u-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-g-h!” – he expands.
“W-h-u-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-g-h .... ah .... m’lem, m’lem, m’lem!” – Sir Martin continues, licking his lips – “brought up a bit of butter.”
The bit of butter Sir Martin brought up triggers a sudden hallucinogenic flashback. Sir Martin collapses to the ground, as though a chimney stack admirably demolished, as swirling politicians, both past and present, spin within his mind, illuminated by a carousel of fluctuating neon colours.
Trump turns head over heels, mouthing racial slurs and political absurdities, and Hilary Clinton – arse over tits in a sea of emails – while her husband’s dead, vacant stare vaguely registers the scene, suggesting he must be inhaling the joint he rapidly puffs upon, although it seems he is not, although it seems he should. David Cameron’s hand vanishes up Miss Piggy’s skirt, as President Nixon eats strips of audio tape, while cloned politicians march out of his arsehole towards a distant White House.
Sir Martin screams in terror;
After an indiscernible amount of time has passed, the worst of the vision is over, and Sir Martin stares wide-eyed into a vague distance, while trying to piece the elements of the entire tableau together so it makes sense. He halts abruptly when he recollects a moment within the vision when his tongue touched the kangaroo’s snotty hanky.
“W-h-u-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-g-h!” – Sir Martin retches.
“W-h-u-u-u-u-r-r-r-r-r-g-h! A kangaroo’s handkerchief” – he continues.
“Oh no! Sir Martin! Are you alright?” – Martin inquires, as expressions of concern sweep across his face, like litter before an eager brush.
“No, I’m not. But I’m alright.” – Sir Martin retches. “Here; help me to my feet. Let’s go back to the library.”
As the two friends descend the staircase, Sir Martin takes The Last Revolution from the hip pocket of his crisply pressed safari suit and begins to read aloud;
“Chapter four; although most of a country’s policies and amendments would be created within the forums representing the various elements of society, there would be some topics that relate to society as a whole, which would be addressed within the CWO’s central forums. Equally; there will be concerns that affect the whole of humankind, which should be addressed within the central forum of the global version of the CWO – once true democracy has become a global phenomenon.
For example; the world’s heavily imbalanced division of wealth concerns a great many people now, as it may in the future, and not only those who work within the field of finance and economics. An opinion regarding this topic may read;
’20% of the world’s population own 94.5% of the world’s wealth. This leaves the remaining 80% with only 5.5% to share between themselves.
To help redress this imbalance, a progressive taxation system should be introduced. Also, the debts of all countries should be annulled, which would allow the world a clean economic slate.’
Incidentally, this opinion amounts to 53 words.
Since there would be issues regarding the development of societies and global civilisation that are moralistic, such as the example above, the central forums should be overseen by representatives of religions, who should assist in guiding societal growth and global civilisation’s advance in a moral sense. To represent atheist and agnostic in this quest, philosophers should form an element of the central forum’s hosts.
To ensure peaceful debate, religious leaders and philosophers should strive to respect one another’s opinions, and those of the people they represent. Religious leaders should encourage peaceful equilibrium between faiths, rather than attempting to convert the masses to religion and those of other faiths to their own, and philosophers should offer guidelines determined by common human morality, rather than questioning the existence of God.
If the governments of our past would have had a board of individuals representing religious and common morality, it seems reasonable to assume their opinions would have prevented the enslavement of the African people, for example, and their continent from being divided as though a cake among villains. Neither would it have been considered morally agreeable to treat peoples such as the Native American Indians, Asian Indians or Australian Aboriginals in the despicable manner they were. Hitler may not have risen to power, should Germany have had a board of such individuals.
It seems fair to assume the world would be entirely different, if the advancement of global civilisation would have been morally sound. Maybe there would be no racism, if it had been so. On the contrary, even. In fact; it may be almost impossible to comprehend the differences between such a world and the world we live in.
Yet; it was not so. Our world has been constructed on a foundation of immorality, which has led to the unstable, divided global civilisation we currently inhabit.
However; an opportunity has presented itself, which would enable humankind to unite and create the fair, peaceful, benevolent world that would have been, should the construction of global civilisation have been overseen by the morality of the human race, rather than the questionable intent of a minority, whose actions passed unchallenged.”
Chapter Eight of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
Martin rests in an armchair, regarding the intricacies of the library’s ornate ceiling, and says – “the more I hear, the more I am sure we are doing the right thing.”
“I feel the same!” – Sir Martin replies, as his eyebrows vanish into his hairline and his tongue pops out of his mouth. Martin assumes the oddly earnest expression evidence of the last effects of hallucinogenic butter.
Once Sir Martin has regained his composure, he continues. “Since I have been contemplating current affairs in the bright light of reason, and the past with insight gleaned from The Last Revolution, I am beginning to realise it is ridiculous to allow so few people to govern the advance of civilisation” – his earnest expression suddenly reappears, as he droops slowly forward until his nose touches Martin’s leg.
“Ahem-HEM!” – Martin coughs, while unintentionally jiggling his legs and knee-ing Sir Martin on the nose as he does so.
“SNORK! .... Wha? .... and I will never understand why we allowed a man who put his gentleman’s sausage in a dead pig’s mouth to become Britain’s Prime Minister; such people usually end up as the inmates of jails and mental asylums, not running a country!” – Sir Martin expands, as he resumes an upright composure.
“What will it take before we see the true character of those who govern our lives? The pure absurdity of the world’s political climate? When will we realise that the world would be entirely different if it were created through the collective intelligence of the human race, rather than the combined idiocy of a minority?” – Sir Martin rants, as Sir Richard enters the library and begins to scuttle around the room like a beetle, shrieking shrilly, with his nipples bouncing and prancing beside him, like curiously elongated freshly shorn Spring lambs.
He is followed closely by Sir Snorticle-Snork, who is giggling uncontrollably and rubbing butter along a tightly rolled Daily Mail, which he intermittently attempts to jab into the hole in Sir Richard’s lederhosen.
“It is as you say!” – Martin announces, while sitting bolt upright in his chair.
“Humankind must closely examine the nightmare our world has become, and dream of the world that might have been, and could still be!”
They leap to their feet and hurdle over Sir Richard, sprint towards the staircase, two at a time, up the stairs, three at a time, along the corridor, four at a time, and burst through the door of their bedchamber, six at a time, before screeching to a halt and beginning the intricate, arduous, painstaking, laborious, fiddly, time-consuming task of linking the six computers together; the epicentre of Britain’s truly democratic government.
Once they have completed their work, Sir Martin and Martin use electronic drawing pads to sketch the bicycle-wheel-like CWO and a combination of Microsoft Office and Photoshop to create the various forums. By the following day, the cwo.uk is ready to be launched at the flick of a switch, which they flick, so it is launched.
“Excellent!” – Sir Martin enthuses, while vigorously rubbing the palms of his hands together, as though trying to remove the last traces of UHU before a handshake.
“What kind of protection does the system have; what kind of ‘anti-virus’ as it were?”
“Avast. The free one. But I had trouble installing it.” – Martin replies.
“WHAT?!” – Sir Martin bellows. “Oh no! Government will just bring the cwo.uk down!”
“Will it? Oh .... blast! .... well .... perhaps I should read another chapter of The Last Revolution, to see if it offers further insight into the difficulties we may face?” – Martin reasons, as he takes the book from Sir Martin and begins to read aloud;
“Chapter five. The alternative to the radicalisation of politics, through the majority’s intervention in political affairs – whether by the method described, or by finding another way to implement systems of governance that would ensure the will of the majority reigns supreme in political decisions – would mean allowing the world’s political climate to remain as it is.
Now we have briefly contemplated an alternative manner of governance, based on that which already exists in many countries, and how its implementation may be achieved, and before we consider the strategy further, let’s contemplate the world as it stands, and the consequences of allowing global civilisation’s construction to advance within the confines of current political guidelines.
Perhaps the most reliable manner of assessing the planet’s health, and that of global civilisation, would be by referring to the Doomsday Clock, which is a symbolic clock representing a countdown to global catastrophe, with midnight symbolising the Earth’s destruction through human incompetence.
The Bulletin of Atomic Scientists (BAS) was founded in 1945 to monitor the threat to the planet’s wellbeing from nuclear technology, and since 1947; Cold War tensions between the Communist Bloc and Capitalist Bloc. Since 2007, the clock has been adjusted to accommodate for other factors that may lead to irrevocable harm to our planet, such as climate change.
Before the 21st century, the closest the clock arrived to having its hands clasped in prayer was at two minutes to twelve, in 1953, when nations representing the Communist Bloc and Capitalist Bloc were non communicative, and each had tested thermonuclear devices within a nine-month period of time. The next closest was when the big hand stood at three minutes to twelve, in 1949, when Russia tested its first nuclear weapon, which announced the commencement of the Arms Race. This occurred again in 1984, when communication between superpowers almost ceased.
And now, in May 2020, during what may be the final edit of this book, the big hand has crept to one hundred seconds to twelve; the closest the clock has ever been to midnight. Although it is often updated, the site hosting the Doomsday Clock, thebulletin.org, had the following introduction in the Autumn of 2015;
’Unchecked climate change, global nuclear weapons modernizations, and outsized nuclear weapons arsenals pose extraordinary and undeniable threats to the continued existence of humanity, and world leaders have failed to act with the speed or on the scale required to protect citizens from potential catastrophe. These failures of political leadership endanger every person on Earth.
Despite some modestly positive developments in the climate change arena, current efforts are entirely insufficient to prevent a catastrophic warming of Earth. Meanwhile, the United States and Russia have embarked on massive programs to modernize their nuclear triads – thereby undermining existing nuclear weapons treaties. The clock ticks now at just three minutes to midnight because international leaders are failing to perform their most important duty – ensuring and preserving the health and vitality of human civilization.’
Since the BAS was founded due to concerns for the planet’s welfare, after the introduction of nuclear weaponry into warfare, we should examine the incredible escalation, since this time, of the destructive power, quantity, and increasingly widespread implementation of these weapons of mass destruction into a number of countries’ so-called ‘defence’ programmes.
The thermonuclear devices dropped on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, in 1945, brought an end to the Second World War. Yet, with the gravest irony, they evoked the threat of the Third World War in the same instant.
When compared to today’s standards, the Hiroshima atomic bomb, Little Boy, was only rather small, at around eighteen kilotons, which is equivalent to the destructive force of about eighteen thousand tons of TNT. Fat Man – the atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki – was only slightly more powerful, at roughly twenty-two kilotons.
The Russian Tsar hydrogen bomb, on the other hand, which was tested in 1961, was around fifty megatons; the destructive power of fifty million tons of TNT, which is around 1,500 times more powerful than the combined force of the bombs which destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and ten times that of all the conventional explosives used in World War Two.
The United States and Russia maintain roughly 1,800 of their nuclear weapons on high-alert status – ready to be launched within minutes of a warning – and ten countries together possess more than 15,000 nuclear weapons. So, it seems reasonable to assume this extreme vulgarity will escalate even further, until these governments – and perhaps more in the future – have the power to obliterate our entire planet, if they do not have the capability to do so already.
When considering this scenario; if one were to observe our planet without any knowledge of the human race, one might assume we are both a fearful and aggressive species, with nations wishing to impose their beliefs upon other nations, and defend themselves against nations wishing to do the same – and that incredible violence, or the threat thereof, is necessary to maintain peace on Earth.
Now that we have contemplated the world’s governments growing capability to create what would be, in effect, devastation on a biblical scale; an Armageddon, which may destroy the planet upon which we live, we should ask ourselves whether the world’s political climate reflects the true nature of our species – Homo sapiens; wise beings – or whether it is only the consequence of the abrasive interactions between a minority who supposedly represent humankind.
If we conclude that governments do represent the nature of humankind, there is no need to consider an alternative, and we should accept the hostile environment within which we exist is necessary to maintain peace on Earth, despite the incredible irony; that if we cannot live together in peace, we must destroy one another, and even the world upon which all life lives.
However; should we arrive at the conclusion that the world’s political climate does not represent the collective nature of humankind, the misrepresentation must be eradicated and replaced by an alternative which does, since misrepresentation may lead to the destruction of the human race, all life, and the planet itself.”
Chapter Nine of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
“My goodness. This is rather serious, isn’t it?” – Martin asks, as they leave their bedchamber and head back to the library. “The planet is in a terrible mess, and when you think about it; the world’s political climate doesn’t reflect human nature at all, and if it did, the world would be completely different.”
“You’re quite right; it is serious” – Sir Martin agrees, as they trot downstairs. “Politics reflects the nature of the minority of humankind who govern the majority, which isn’t human nature at all; only an element of it, and it has influenced humankind for thousands of years. The Imperialist Club represents this nature, and they wish to increase government’s power so the world will grow to be even worse. So, rather than strike a balance, as we first intended, we must aim to foil the Imperialist Club’s revolution with the people’s revolution, so the majority will have an opportunity to transform this troubled world into the paradise it was supposed to be, for all who live and will live!”
“Imagine such a world” – Martin sighs, as he flops into one of an ample array of armchairs in the club’s library. “Please read another chapter, so we may glean further insight regarding the task we are faced with.”
Sir Martin retches obligingly, and begins to read;
“The consequences of global warming is another threat to our planet’s welfare, and again; if we are satisfied governments are doing everything within their power to prevent an already grave situation from worsening to a point of no return, we should accept nothing more may be done, and continue to allow governments to dictate the manner in which the planet’s ill health is dealt with.
On the other hand, if we – the overwhelming majority of the world’s population – feel a great deal more could and should be done, and that efforts being made do not reflect the urgency of the situation, we should strive to intervene in political affairs, so the human race may express their concern for our planet, and take action which reflects this concern.
The latter deserves serious contemplation when considering governments were warned, in the 1950s and 60s, about the harmful effects of burning fossil fuels, and it was their reluctance to take the matter seriously that has allowed the manifestation of the consequences. Should governments have heeded the advice of scientists conducting research at that time, measures may have been taken to avoid the grim scenario we now find ourselves within.
Therefore; to summarise all we have considered until this point; if we – the majority of our kind – feel the planet’s hostile political climate is unnecessary, since it does not reflect human nature, and measures being taken to prevent climate change are inadequate, it would be in the planet’s best interest, that of all life, and the future generations of all life, to intervene in political affairs, so the hands of the Doomsday Clock flop to rest peacefully at its hips, rather than peering between its fingertips at a world it fears will surely end.
Yet; although they may be the greatest, climate change and the threat of a nuclear holocaust are only two absurdities among countless others, which may lead one to assume the world is being governed by absurd reasoning – the consequence of fragmented intelligence; the dissonant interactions between the world’s leaders – which could and should be eradicated through the collective intelligence of humankind.
There is, for example, the question of life’s meaning and purpose. If one considers global civilisation as a construction project, one might wonder what the human race have been attempting to construct, and find it unsurprising that the corrupt, divided world that has been created, and is being created – while teetering on the brink of destruction – does little to evoke a sense of life’s meaning and purpose within our kind.
It may be said the foundation upon which to build global civilisation does not even exist, for the foundation of any civilisation should guarantee its inhabitants are housed, fed, educated, and cared for when they are sick. When bearing this in mind; there is still a long way to go to reach this initial stage of construction, when considering half the planet’s populous live within the realms of poverty, and that which has been built, and is being built, exists uncertainly, for it has been created, and is being created within the shadow cast by the threat of destruction.
Once all factors are taken into consideration, it seems fair to assume that governments are not overseeing the construction of a global civilisation within which our species may survive and flourish. Governments do not combine to form one force directing the growth of global civilisation, with an ultimate goal in mind. This has not been their plan, it is not their plan, and they do not seem to have a plan to offer. In fact; many governments seem intent on creating a divided world with increasingly sturdy borders, housing nations in hostile disagreement, and should their discrepancies escalate into armed conflict, they may destroy global civilisation and the planet upon which it rests.
‘We’ are not responsible for creating a global civilisation that has no apparent blueprint, and may be created only to be destroyed; we are instructed to create this absurd world by those governing our lives.
Therefore; at this woefully uncertain point in time, we, as the workers responsible for creating this haphazard, unstable, directionless, divided world, should wonder whether we might be able to come up with a better plan – or a plan, since one does not seem to exist. A design for our societies, and global civilisation, developed through the collective intelligence of the entire human race. In effect; for the world to embark upon a project to design a world the world wishes to live in, while employing governments as the teams overseeing its construction.
For the first time in history, this is an entirely feasible concept. If the Internet is employed as a tool to sculpt a transformation of the world’s political order, in the manner described in the first chapters of this book, humankind would be able to unite in the greatest construction project in the universe known to us; to create a planet that may be the envy of the universe unknown to us, rather than continuing to create a sorrowful catastrophe, existing fearfully in the shadow of destruction, and being directed to do so by an almost insignificant percentage of our kind, who do not seem to have a logical plan in mind.
Let’s continue by considering further the strategy the human race may employ to create a world that reflects the true nature of our kind; when collective intelligence eradicates all man-made threats to our welfare, and the planet’s, and redefines the meaning and purpose of our existence – a global civilisation that reaches a standard of development our species is capable of, without the fear of destruction surrounding its creation.”
Chapter Ten of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
Martin clasps his hands beneath his chin and says – “gosh! This is so exciting, isn’t it? Imagine; if everyone participates in the design of their societies, and global civilisation, life would have a new meaning and purpose!”
“Yes! And it’s entirely feasible!” – Sir Martin agrees. “Let’s pop the news on, to see if there’s anything about the CWO.”
Sir Martin turns on an old, glass-tube television set at precisely the right moment, for it blares – “citizens have been warned not to enter the CWO forums, which, so far, has been advice unheeded. The people of Britain are gathering within the forums of the cwo.uk to design a model of Britain’s societal infrastructure, which many believe will be far superior to that within which we reside; that which has been designed by Britain’s government. If the general consensus reveals collective intelligence outwits the reasoning of a minority, the majority may insist governments employ the internet as a tool to create a true, interactive democracy. In essence; Britain is on the brink of revolution!”
The newsreel skips to an interview with Britain’s prime minister;
“No. At this moment in time we haven’t been able to infiltrate the cwo.uk because its security is so tight. So far we have discovered a system claiming to be a basic Avast, which hasn’t been installed correctly, but we know that’s just a ruse. If we meddle with it, the entire internet may be disrupted. These are perilous times, but we have the situation under control .…”
“Well, thank you, Prime Minister ....”
“Snigger-snork!” – Martin snigger-snorks.
“Ha ha!” - Sir Martin laughs.
“So, it seems the CWO is proving popular!”
“Yes! The British people may soon have the power to change their country, and ultimately, should the CWO spread from Britain to other countries; to take part in changing the world!”
Sir Martin switches the television off, and the pair leave the library together. As they begin to ascend the staircase, they pause to watch Lord Grup-phart emerging from the dining room on a small tricycle, which he pedals furiously towards the staircase.
Squeaky, squeaky, squeaky.
He is carrying a plate on the palm of an upraised hand, upon which two heels of bread rest, smeared liberally with bright yellow butter and crowned with hunks of Caerphilly cheese. The Lord disappears into a cupboard under the staircase, just as Sir Richard emerges from the dining room. Sir Richard looks up, down, left and right, before spinning on a heel and collapsing to the floor, where he begins to snore and emit loud honks of gas, which adopt an eerie tone as they pass through the funnel of the rolled-up Daily Mail protruding from his buttery bottom.
A great, muffled screech erupts from the cupboard under the stairs;
“What a state to get in!” – Sir Martin exclaims. “I wonder how they see the world, at this moment in time. Nothing like the reality most perceive, that’s for sure. But isn’t that always the case, whether they are sober or not?”
“I believe you are right” – Martin agrees – “yet; their sense of lofty dissociation has surely been heightened by the effects of the butter. They rule the world already, in their intoxicated delusions, so they will be more determined than ever once the drug has worn off.”
“Indeed” – Sir Martin replies. “And they may sober up soon, so we should use this time of advantage to our …. um …. advantage, and attempt to halt the never-ending flow of politicians, before the world is governed by their presence wherever one happens to turn!”
“Could you read the next chapter of The Last Revolution?” – Martin asks – “to fill us with even greater determination?”
As they resume their ascent of the staircase, Sir Martin obliges;
“Although there has never been a single political system governing the entire planet, attempts have been made throughout history to create one that would. If Germany would have won the Second World War, we would be living in a global civilisation constructed to Nazi criteria, and perhaps it is reasonable to assume everyone would have adapted to living in it. Or, if communism would have swept across the planet, the red flag would be flying above our heads wherever we turn, and it would have become our nature to address each other as ‘Comrade’.
Yet; even though our global civilisation is not governed by a singular political philosophy – created from the dreams of an individual, such as Hitler or Stalin – it has been constructed to the criteria of an almost imperceptible minority, nevertheless, and just because we have adapted to living in it, does not mean it is as we wish it would be.
Although it is convenient to use political terminology we have grown accustomed to, and the CWO would create a system of governance by the majority that relates to our understanding of democracy, the fusion of political ideology, both historic and emerging, created through international debate, remains nameless, as yet.
A fusion of political philosophy, resulting in a global political doctrine, would bring an end to the threat of a Third World War or any wars that arise as a result of the conflict between different political concepts.
It does not seem wise to wait for politicians to create a fusion of political philosophy, so the world may be governed fairly, and in peace, or believe it is in their minds to do so. Governments struggle to maintain systems of rule that provide for a wealthy minority, at the expense of the majority, and nations are prepared to destroy the majority of humankind, and even the planet itself, to keep their systems in place, regardless of the absurdity.
Neither should we expect a united world to emerge from movements claiming to offer a political ideology that may be employed on a global scale, the philosophy of an individual, or the policies of a political party, since there will be those who believe in these alternatives and others who do not. And if we place our trust in someone, or a group of people, they may let us down, and if they don’t, they will die, leaving us without leaders and at risk from being governed by corrupt forces once again. In effect; such alternatives prevent the world from being united by opinion and creates political tensions. Or, together we stand; divided we fall.
Yet; if the world unites, through our understanding of true democracy, and collectively forms the world the world dreams of living in, when one world-builder dies they will be replaced by another, so an Earthly paradise will continue to form until the end of time.
And should the planet be governed by everyone who lives upon it, there would not be an opportunity for an individual to attempt to dominate the world. Neither could there be small groups of people who wish to govern the citizens of entire countries, which is how our world is governed at present.
There would be no need for groups such as Anonymous, who attempt to expose government secrets, because there wouldn’t be any government secrets, and there would be no conspiracy theorists either, since everyone would know exactly how the world functions because they would participate openly in its design and construction.
The increasing number of organisations pressing for global reform would disintegrate, but their policies would be considered within the forums of the CWO, and perhaps implemented as viable alternatives to current guidelines dictating our existence. Otherwise, the Zeitgeist Movement and the Venus Project, and so on, are only destined to fail, despite their good intentions, for the simple reason that not everyone agrees with their concept of a new world, just as not everyone agrees with the policies of a political party.
As we have already considered; the current political climate has led to a world resting upon the brink of a Third World War, with the greatest global tensions existing between the United States of America and Russia. Yet, Russia only accounts for 2% of the world’s population and the U.S.A; 4.4%.
Therefore; 6.4 % of the world’s population are prepared to start a war that may destroy the entire planet and all its life, simply because these ‘superpowers’ are engaged in a conflict of interests.
Each superpower’s government is represented by a single person, whose role is to maintain the precarious balance between war and peace. In effect; world peace relies on the ability of these world leaders to ‘get along’ with each other.
In 2016, during a previous edit of this book, the world only hoped Vladimir Putin would get along with Donald Trump, should he be elected as the President of the United States, for a clash of personalities may result in a Third World War.
Now, Donald Trump has been elected, and seems to be getting along reasonably well with Vladimir Putin, so the world has tentatively released bated breath. However; Donald Trump has already engaged in childlike banter with Kim Jong-un, the Leader of the Workers’ Party of Korea, regarding a nuclear war between North Korea and America, with Donald Trump leaving a message on the Internet for the world to see, via a Twitter ‘tweet’, posted below;
‘North Korean Leader Kim Jong Un (sic) just stated that the “Nuclear Button is on his desk at all times.” Will someone from his depleted and food starved regime please inform him that I too have a Nuclear Button, but it is a much bigger & more powerful one than his, and my Button works!’
So, humankind have drawn a fresh, anxious breath, and hope Kim Jong-un and Donald Trump will become friends. We should revolt against this possibly fatal absurdity sooner rather than later. If a global revolution does not take place, the majority of humankind will remain powerless to prevent politicians from creating a Third World War, as they have the Second, First, or any other war, and both soldier and civilian will be destroyed by it – as though politicians regard the majority of humankind as nothing more than pieces within the games they play.
Although a country’s leaders once led their armies into battle, if a Third World War occurs, politicians will retreat to the safety of their nuclear bunkers until the war they have created is over, before re-emerging to resume their rule and prepare for World War Four; if there is anyone left to govern or destroy.
The repetition of error is not due to the fact that ‘we’ do not learn from the mistakes made throughout history – it is rather that politicians do not learn, which may be due to the fact politicians are the least likely to suffer the consequences of the wars they create.
However; should we gather the courage to relieve politicians of their power, and place the destiny of our planet into the hands of everyone who lives upon it, the suffering of the past, and the fear of such suffering, would surely prevent such unspeakable calamities from taking place again.
The Internet is offering a unique possibility for humankind to unite; to create a philosophy of living that would bring lasting peace to our planet. The power to change the world is within the grasp of each and every one of us, and all we should do is seize the opportunity while there is still the chance to do so.
After all; if an almost negligible percentage of the world’s population are able to control the destiny of civilisation’s advance, and individuals such as Hitler and Stalin once dreamed of dominating the world, why shouldn’t the whole world dream of constructing a global civilisation through collective reasoning?”
Chapter Eleven of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
“Yes” – Martin sighs, once Sir Martin’s recital has ended. “At present, the world that should have been, and could still be, is nothing more than a dream within the minds of dreamers such as you, I, and Martin Sharratt. Yet; everything humankind have created was once nothing but a dream.”
“For the world that should have been and could still be, to manifest in reality, we should only dream of the world that should have been and could still be, since the dream is the first step towards creating the world that should have been and could still be” – Sir Martin expands – “so let us consider this nightmare we exist within, dear friend, and once we have; dream like we have never dreamt before! Let this be our mission in life; to spread the will to dream to each and every one who lives, so the whole world will dream of the world that should have been and could still be, until the world that should have been and could still be, will be!”
“Oh! What a glorious quest, Sir Martin! And you make it sound so simple .... so logical” – Martin says, admiringly.
“And it is!” – Sir Martin replies.
Sir Martin and Martin remain silent until the gravity of their quest becomes apparent, when Sir Martin begins to breathe heavily and topples sideways off his chair, before spreading out over the floor like a liquid, and Martin trickles from his chair until he has formed a kind of puddle beneath.
“So, let’s try to break this down” – Sir Martin begins, wheezing dusty air through bared teeth.
“Sir Richard and his guests are attempting to populate Britain, and possibly the entire planet, with clones of politicians, in an attempt to rectify the imbalance between the minority, who govern, and the majority, who are governed?”
“Yes, I think that is the essence of their plan” – Martin agrees, while adjusting his form, nuancically, to prevent his lungs from imploding.
“The clones intend to preach political doctrine relating to The Imperialist Club’s revolution, and since there will be so many of them, human reasoning will adjust to the mentality of politicians. They will exalt the societal designs of governments while poop-pooing any ideas the majority come up with, which will ensure democracies remain as farcical as they are, or grow to be even worse” – Sir Martin squeaks, through pursed lips pressed flatly against the ground.
“And once the mentality of those who govern fully infiltrates the mentality of the governed, the human race will be destined to be governed until the end of time!” – Martin wails, almost inaudibly.
“So, firstly; we must prevent the lady being from producing further offspring, and secondly; we must ensure nothing interferes with the cwo.uk, where the majority are designing a model of society according to their wishes” – Sir Martin whinnies.
“Yes .... we must, on both accounts” – Sir Martin splutters. “The minority may become an equal majority, or even the overwhelming majority, unless we find a way to prevent the clones from being born.”
They manage to fight against the gravity of their quest, rise to their feet, and amble down to the riverbank, where they lay spread-eagled upon its banks. A tiny President Nixon hurries towards them, hops over the recumbent pair and lands in the river with a splash. He begins to perform a seemingly practised crawl towards a wooden rowing boat, on the other side of the river, before clambering inside and rowing away.
“Seems we have little time to waste!” – Sir Martin declares, with a watery rattle.
“So, why are we here?” – Martin peeps.
They rise to their feet, stride through the just-above-the-knee-height grasses of the club’s unkempt gardens, enter the club, ascend the staircase, and stomp along a long corridor until they reach the bolted oak door, which they unbolt and open, before continuing their journey until they encounter the door of the laboratory; the knob of which Sir Martin twists – but his hands slip as though the handle is smeared with – “butter!” – Sir Martin exclaims.
“Y-e-e-e-e-e-s .… butter, Sir Richard!” – a low, gritty, yet feminine voice responds from the other side of the door. “The best contraceptive I could find. Smear a little on the knob, as it were, and your lover’s attempts to impregnate are thwarted! Although I am fond of your loving ways, Sir Richard, I must rest a little after populating so profusely, so I bid you a good night, my dear!”
Sir Martin and Martin heave exasperated sighs. “Well .... it looks like there is nothing more for us to do today. Let us forget this nonsense, for now, and retire to our bedchamber to sleep, and perchance, to dream, and hope tomorrow is a less frightful day than today has been” – Sir Martin suggests, as they walk towards their room, bidding the being an invisible good night as they do so.
“An unfortunate example of a woman” – Sir Martin muses, as they enter their bedchamber – “if she amounts to Sir Richard’s experience of women, there is no wonder he doesn’t allow them in the club.”
Chapter Twelve of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
In the morning, after Sir Martin and Martin have performed their toilet – Sir Martin; an impressive faece of some thirty centimetres, and Martin; slightly shorter, but wider – they amble downstairs to the dining room, where Sir Richard and his guests have gathered for breakfast.
The air smells of death, since no one has removed the duke’s corpse. Lord Grup-phart growls at Sir Richard whenever he attempts to snatch the butter dish from his vice-like grip, and barks when Sir Richard tries to lasso it with a skilfully modified nipple.
Sir Snorticle-Snork withdraws a tightly rolled Daily Mail from Sir Richard’s bottom, before unfurling it and reading yesterday’s news, while gnawing on a heel of stale bread smothered with lashings of butter and topped with a blob of runny Brie.
Sir Martin and Martin decide against breakfasting with Sir Richard and his guests. After gathering the ingredients for a modest petit déjeuner from the larder, they mosey on down to the riverbank, through The Imperialist Club’s once gloriously kempt garden, where they sit at the roots of the weeping willow and gaze thoughtfully into the river’s gentle flow, while nibbling chunks of Camembert and feasting upon a rather crusty baguette.
“Bit dry without butter” – Martin spluffers, as a cloud of crumbs spray from his mouth before being carried off on a morning breeze.
“Yes. But a bit better for one” – Sir Martin poffs, while dusting away crumbs the morning breeze has deposited on his jacket, and observing as a cloud of his own replace them.
“Shall I break the day by reading another chapter of The Last Revolution?” – Sir Martin floomfs.
“Why, yes. Please do, my dear friend” – Martin folofs, while puffing clouds of crumbs and shuffling into a position comfortable when one must listen.
“Very well” – Sir Martin ploffaloffs, while attempting to dry-swallow the last of the baguette’s crumbs, and wriggling his posterior until he has adopted a position comfortable when one must read aloud.
“Chapter eight” – he begins;
“To create a global paradise may be a monumental task, which would require a great deal of thought power and physical effort to achieve, but once the world is running smoothly, like a well-oiled machine, politics, which dominates today’s news, would fade into the background of world affairs, to be replaced by reports of humankind’s advance towards a bright, new future.
Global civilisation, in a physical sense, is the foundation we may build upon, which has been created through the blood, sweat and tears of our ancestors, and is being built by those who live today. It has not been built by politicians – it has been built within the confines of their restraints, destroyed throughout history as a result of their abrasive, aggressive interactions, and exists within the threat of destruction.
When it is destroyed by war, politicians instruct those they govern to rebuild it, so it may be knocked down once again, as though towers of building blocks kicked to rubble by the most despicable of infants, and rebuilt by those who have no choice but to entertain them.
There is an opportunity to create a world that does not grow feebly and uncertainly in the shadow of destruction; a world that would grow vigorously in the bright light of creation and innovation, without being stunted by factors such as financial concerns.
The world is governed by finance because twenty percent of the world’s population own almost all of the world’s wealth, and the political climate is designed to maintain this unequal balance. This scenario hinders the advance of humankind, and leaves half the world’s population living within the realms of poverty.
The world’s wealth has been generated by countless generations who have lived before us, yet we have been robbed of our inheritance and do not have the power to recover the proceeds of this theft, just as we are unable to prevent those who govern from contemplating destroying the planet and all its life.
Of course; a global progressive taxation system would redress the imbalance of wealth, and a Global Democracy would eradicate the threat of war caused by political tensions. In fact; the world’s absurdities would surely cease to exist, should the majority unite in an effort to detect the world’s flaws and find logical alternatives to replace them.
Although it may be argued that a journey towards a Global Democracy would be wrought with problems, it may be said they are but difficulties to be overcome. For example; the language barrier is perhaps one of the greatest obstacles, so a flawless translation system should be implemented within the global version of the CWO, together with a manner of teaching English on a global scale within our societies, since English is the language of communication chosen by politicians, which, in effect, almost everyone who would participate in the world’s construct would be.
Also, once the world’s affairs are a concern for the whole of humankind, rather than a responsibility held within the hands of a minority, and in order for the masses to adapt to civilian rule, the new system of politics should be taught in schools. Students should be aware the profession they choose will be conducted within an environment they are able to manipulate, and their society and global civilisation are equally malleable.
Perhaps, one day, the current system of politics will be taught in history classes, where students may find it hard to believe there was a time when the world was governed by such a small number of people, who had the power to control the lives of everyone, and even destroy them and the planet itself. They may find it almost impossible to conceive; that a tiny minority of the world’s population were allowed to create a fearful, corrupt, unjust, divided hell on Earth, instead of everyone working together to create a paradise for all.
Once their ties to today’s political systems are broken, and constraints to thinking released, economists would design an alternative financial climate, for it seems financial restraints hinder humankind’s advance in many respects. For instance, if the limits of medical research were determined by the availability of those conducting research, rather than funding, healthcare would advance at a far greater rate.
Those who produce and distribute comestibles would work together to ensure food is not wasted, and excess distributed to those in need, or preserved to provide sustenance should there be a time of dearth – rather than being transported to dumps to feed vermin and insects.
Companies manufacturing merchandise would construct their products to the highest of standards, to reduce the amount of waste and pollution the planet produces, and to ensure the world’s limited resources are used with consideration, so there is sufficient for future generations.
However; to continue writing in this manner would mean preparing a manifesto, which would amount to nothing more than irony, since the concept of the CWO offers a method that would allow everyone to participate in forming a manifesto for political and societal reform.
These are only examples of good, common sense, which most possess. Yet; such generic wisdom does not exist within the world politicians have created and continue to create. It is time to realise the farce of our existence and unite; to transform our troubled world into an efficient, logical global society, which may become a blueprint for all civilisations in the universe, should they exist, rather than the shame of the same.”
Chapter Thirteen of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
Martin smiles warmly after the recital, looks momentarily surprised, and then adopts an expression of almost pious serenity, after an anvil has bounced with a clang from his crown.
Sir Martin grimaces into the treetop, where Sir Richard’s head is nestled, grimacing back.
“Dammit!” – Sir Martin hisses. “They are sobering up, and they know we are up to something. They have always been suspicious of us, ever since we were young. Sir Richard knows we know about the room with the specimens, and they may sense we are not very enthusiastic about their revolution too. I’m quite sure they will gang up on us and force us to leave, or worse, so we must act with haste!”
Sir Martin and Martin spring to their feet and sprint from the riverbank, as Sir Richard drops from the tree and into the river with a ‘plop!’.
They navigate their way around Lord Grup-phart, who has emerged from the cupboard beneath the stairs on the tricycle, which he pedals furiously towards them while snarling and snapping his teeth – before sprinting up the stairs, four at a time, and along the long corridor, six at a time, and shuddering to a halt at the laboratory’s door, which swings open with a push and introduces them to a blast of genetically modified pubolic gas so concentrated that unconsciousness is but a careless deep breath away.
“FHOOOF!” – Sir Martin fhoofs.
He draws a careful deep breath and strides across the room, before jamming his fist into the beast thing lady wotsit’s bum hole with all his might.
“YAH-HOO-HO-HO!” – shrieks the hideous beast woman-like-creature-whatisit – “what did you do that for?”
“I didn’t know what else to do” – Sir Martin replies, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I had to do something. You know; you really must stop giving birth to clones of politicians. I mean; I know they are your and Sir Richard’s children, in a way, and you must love them dearly, I assume, and you have sworn allegiance to the club, and everything .... and the revolution, and so forth, but …. well …. have you heard of the hippies and the punks?”
Sir Martin spends the rest of the day telling the scientists, the lab technicians and the Mitochondrial Eve of Politicians all about the hippies and the punks. Of their ideals; their dream of a peaceful, fair, just world for all. The entourage listen, enthralled, and are left, some hours later, with their allegiance to the club in tatters.
The hideously enlarged she-being pours herself a pint of gin and climbs into a hot bath, while the scientists and lab technicians knock up a legal high for the evening, with The Imperialist Club’s Revolution suddenly forgotten.
“It’s over” – Sir Martin sighs with relief. “The people have won, just in the nick of time; before governments could tighten their grasp any further. The six pc stacks have enough RAM for Britain’s revolution, and government won’t touch it because they are afraid it may disrupt the internet. Perfect!”
Sir Martin turns towards Martin in anticipation of a response. Martin sits upon a chair in the laboratory with a rivulet of blood trickling from a corner of his serenely smiling mouth, resting peacefully below eyes increasingly vacant.
Sir Martin hurries over to his dear friend as he begins to loll forward, and cradles his head within his arms while observing a colossal lump on Martin’s crown. After Sir Martin has shouldered his friend into an upright position, he takes the copy of The Last Revolution from the hip pocket of his crisply pressed safari suit and begins to read;
“Although you may feel everything you have read so far makes perfect sense, and wonder whether there could be anything to prevent a global revolution, so humankind may begin to create a world through collective intelligence, there are a number of factors, relating to mentality and attitude, that may hinder its manifestation, some of which were mentioned in the first chapter.
For example; political tensions between nations, which may result in a Third World War, should encourage the world to unite in a drive to overthrow existing governments and create a world that reflects humankind’s wish for peace on Earth. However; although a nuclear holocaust is a terrifying prospect, we have developed various mentalities to cope with the notion, since the world’s political climate is designed to prevent the majority from intervening in political affairs.
We accept the world’s hostilities are an unavoidable element of our existence, or try to push the concept out of our minds. Or we assume no one would be foolish enough to press the Red Button, or simply hope a Third World War won’t occur, in much the same way we may hope a grumbling volcano will not erupt.
The mentality of our species has been affected by being born into a troubled world we have no control over. We have been conditioned to accept we are unable to interfere in politics, even though we may believe we live in a democratic society.
There are many quotes which sum up politics rather well, but this one by the French poet, essayist and philosopher, Paul Valéry, may do so perfectly:
‘Politics is the art of preventing people from becoming involved in affairs which concern them.’
We feel as powerless to intervene in politics as we do the forces of nature, and it may take time to replace this impotent attitude with the belief that an opportunity has arisen that would allow empowerment. Until that time, we are destined to live with the fearful conditions a minority have created, which are only made bearable by acceptance, denial, resignation, wishful thinking and what may turn out to be hopeless hope.
At present, those who hope for radical change in the world are only able to express their views in a limited manner. One may, for example, take part in a demonstration, where banners of protest are waved and opinions shouted as loud as lungs allow, with the hope banners will be read and shouts heard by politicians, and taken seriously if they are. Or one may sign a petition, regarding some concern, or share and create posts on social-networking sites such as Facebook. Although such actions certainly increase awareness of the world’s problems, and reflects the concern of the majority, they rarely encourage the desired response, and if they do, it does not usually progress beyond the local to encompass the planet.
One may also join one of the ever-increasing number of movements wishing to change the world. Although these movements reflect a growing desire for global reform, they create a divide between people who should stand united. Apart from this division rendering them ineffectual in a political sense, and preventing the world from being united by a single vision, these movements place rebels under the scrutiny of government authorities.
The fear of change, and complacency, are other factors which contribute to what may prove to be fatal apathy. Those who benefit from current political systems may be the most complacent of all, and the least likely to wish for change. A resigned stance is adopted by many of those who manage to adapt to society, and live comfortable lives. They enjoy the comfort familiarity brings, and therefore fear change more than those who struggle through life. They pay their bills and rent, or their mortgage, and only wish their children will adapt as well as they have, even though they know the consequences may be grave in the extreme if they don’t.
Similarly; although many wish to help those who starve, as they eat, and who drink dirty water, as they drink clean water from a tap, others do not trouble themselves with such concerns. One should not assume they do not care, but consider they feel powerless to assist, and therefore ignore the plight of others, which they must, if they wish to enjoy their relatively good fortune without it being ruined by a sense of guilt they feel unable to extinguish.
Those who find it impossible to ignore the plight of people who suffer may donate money to charity. Yet, the effect of such generosity is questionable. Decades of donations have not harvested the benefit of their intent, since developing nations still do not have the basic infrastructure of civilisation, such as clean water, sewage systems, hospitals and schools, and one might wonder why such basic amenities have not been implemented long ago.
Perhaps one should consider those who govern the developed world and wonder whether they see the advance of developing nations as an improvement in their favour. For example; should Africa reach a standard of development enjoyed by the West, Africa may become a powerful ally of another nation. Therefore; if hindering the advance of developing nations is a deliberate strategy by developed nations, as a result of the political tensions between developed nations, the scenario hinders the advance of humankind.
Replacing an attitude of accepting or ignoring such absurdities with sheer determination for change, is as great a challenge as evoking a revolution, and there cannot be one without the other. The manner in which our world is, and has been governed, has resulted in a mentality far removed from what may be considered natural for our species, and a healthy attitude will not become apparent until we are able to express our deepest concerns, generated by our true nature, with the knowledge they have the power to evoke change.
Perhaps a healthy outlook may be found when observing the philosophies of the indigenous tribes of the past, such as the Native American Indians before their near annihilation, many of which considered the lives of multiple generations ahead of their own, as if it were only natural to do so.
Yet; if the world’s political climate remains as it is, we will continue to adopt such attitudes as preferring not to think any further ahead than our own generation, because the space beyond is filled with a dark uncertainty. And praying, wishing and hoping there will not be a Third World War, because there is little else we can do, and pushing thoughts of the suffering of our fellow kind out of our minds, so we can live comfortable lives without a sense of guilt.
There will be a revolution when we realise that denial, resignation, wishful thinking, hopeless hope, the fear of change, the comfort a disturbing familiarity brings, easing one’s sense of powerlessness and guilt through token gestures of kindness, or engaging in near-ineffectual activity to change the world are deeply depressing alternatives when compared to the opportunity we have been presented with.
However; until we seize this chance to take control, we must keep on hoping, wishing, praying, marching, waving banners, shouting, donating to charities, signing petitions, joining organisations and engaging in conversation about how awful the world is, so we do not feel as powerless as we really are.”
Chapter Fourteen of The Imperialist Club for Gentlemen Uprising
Martin’s serene smile has faded, but not entirely, and he stares at the tiled floor of the laboratory as though his favourite film is about to be projected onto it.
Sir Martin gently closes the book and places it into a hip pocket, before smiling warmly at the Mitochondrial Eve of Politicians, who has emerged from the bathroom glowing radiantly, and some three hundred kilos lighter after the hot bath and pint of gin.
The next morning, after a grave has been dug, scientists and lab technicians lift Martin’s body onto the bed of a trolley, upon which he is wheeled outside, where a large cold hole awaits his presence.
Once Martin has been wrapped in a length of burlap, his body is lowered to the depths of the grave and soil shovelled within. Sir Martin’s heart hangs heavy within his chest as he stands suddenly alone, reciting a passage of text he knows his friend would like to hear, and which he senses he will recite many times in his years ahead as a revolutionary, for it may take years for the mentality of humankind to adapt to the opportunity placed before them.
Alone, alas, but with the spirit of his dear friend Martin forever beside him;
“Of course; you may think the concept of a Global Democracy as nothing but a dream. Yet; everything that has been created through the effort of humankind was once nothing more than a dream.
The dreams of politicians have led to the world we live in, and dictate the manner in which we must live. Hitler’s dreams would have turned the entire planet into an intolerant, hateful, racist, Aryan hell, and perhaps an equally insane tyrant will rise to power, one day, with the dream of dominating the world, and succeed. It would certainly be foolish to consider this an impossibility, and the only way to render it so would be for the majority to rise together before such an occurrence – to dream of the world we wish to live in, and pursue the dream, as individuals and minorities pursue, and have pursued theirs.
Or will it take a calamity, such as World War Three, before we realise the world would be entirely different if global civilisation were constructed to reflect the collective dream of humankind, rather than the multiple, conflicting dreams of the world’s governing minorities, which have combined to produce a barely tolerable nightmare?
Are we only destined to build a new world if we are instructed to do so by those who will destroy the world we are living in; who will govern us until the next calamity of their creation?
Will waiting prove a fatal mistake? We cannot even dream if our world is destroyed, and the dream of a paradise on Earth will remain a dream if we are rendered even more powerless by governments.
Naturally; there is bound to be reluctance when advancing towards the unknown, and leaving the comfort of familiarity behind. Yet; it seems we must become a generation of brave pioneers, if humankind wishes to survive and flourish on a planet enjoying good health.
The first steps towards this world may be filled with trepidation, but each step will be more certain than the last, because a new philosophy of living will emerge as we head towards a bright, new future of our creation.
Should a revolution occur, in the manner described in this book, there would be no need to think of another; it would be the Last Revolution. If a revolution does not occur, the future of our planet, our kind, and all life will remain suspended within the realms of a nightmare few seem willing to consider. A revolution must take place so a new philosophy of living may emerge from the dreams we dream within this nightmare; dreams that reveal the true nature of humankind, and reflected in the world around us upon their manifestation.
Yet; what would a world constructed from the desire of humankind be like?
One should not assume it is human nature to lust for power, wealth and fame, and to exploit those we see as weaker than ourselves. Or to destroy one another, entire races of people, the environment and even the planet itself, in order to defend our principles and impose our will on others, but consider these traits exist within those who hold dominance today, and in the past, because these qualities are essential if one wishes to reach the pinnacles of power and rule the world of today.
Unfortunately, some of these attributes have spilled into the consciousness of the masses, to some degree. For instance; since the wealthy minority have left so little wealth for the majority to share, one may be tempted to take more than one’s fair share, and to do so may require one to be as ruthless and selfish as the wealthy minority.
So, it may take some time before our mentality adjusts to living in a global civilisation built upon a foundation of fairness and equality, rather than exploitation, greed and inequality. And if the world does not change, the political climate will continue to manipulate human nature rather than reflect it.
The journey towards a world that does reflect the true nature of humankind would require each and every one of us to question our values, and consider what circumstances have led to harbouring them.
There is also the question ‘does humankind have morality without religion’. Perhaps it could be argued that humankind would not have been receptive to religion, if we did not, or have searched throughout the ages for a meaning to existence that runs deeper than the mere physicality of survival.
Perhaps common human morality led humankind to search for its source; for God. Maybe, if we would have been free to roam the planet as we pleased, from the earliest days of our migration until the present, unhindered by borders, the concept of God would have become a topic for universal debate, and one philosophy would have formed to encompass belief, rather than endless religions, since it would have surely seemed common sense to assume there is only The One God, or Gods, watching over us all.
Maybe, in time, this theory will emerge within the global version of the CWO, when there are representatives of the world’s religions overseeing the development of global civilisation in a moralistic sense. Perhaps they will agree that the various religions are the result of considering the phenomenon of God on a planet divided by borders, culture and language, and that Jesus and Muhammad are prophets representing the same God; that Allah and Yahweh are one and the same.
Discussions between religious leaders, and words of wisdom from those who follow a faith, and those who do not, would surely prevent wars created by religious conflict;
‘There is only one religion, though there are a hundred versions of it’
George Bernard Shaw
‘Like a bee gathering honey from different flowers, the wise accept the essence of different scriptures, and see only the good in all religions.’
The Srimad Bhagavatan
Perhaps religious leaders will arrive at the conclusion that God wishes humankind to live in peace and harmony, with love and respect for one another, all life, and the planet itself, regardless of faith. To exude qualities such as kindness, caring, and a wish for fairness and equality in the world. To be compassionate towards those suffering hardships, and to treat another as one wishes to be treated. And maybe those who do not believe in God will wholeheartedly agree with them, because they will reach the same conclusion through human reasoning guided by common morality.
However; whether this is God’s wish, the wish of those who believe in God, or simply a wish the vast majority holds dear, regardless of their beliefs, it seems we are unable to fulfil this wish within the world we currently inhabit.”