R Moore: The Future

His Eminence, R A Moore, has invited me to share in His grand Vision, a vision that may well result in my early and mistakenly enthusiastic death. (More on that later). As a technocratic communist, drunk on the power of scientific progress (“it’s function over form, dammit!”), He is intellectually and ethically placed to assume total control. If you thought Tzarist Russia was bad, it will be nothing compared with the autocratic rule His Emine—no no Sir no I meant sorry Sir no not again Sir please Sir—His Mightiness! His Mightiness is preparing to assume.

As spokesperson I am only able to reveal a hint of this future glory. Genetic experimentation will of course be actively encouraged (with a whip) and soon He shall know the deepest of the earth’s biological secrets. As will the scientists who worked for Him, but they won’t be around long. Armed with this new knowledge, He will create what are presently termed Giant Cats. These cats will be your ordinary neighbourhood cats—tabbies, gingers, Persians—genetically engineered to massive proportions. Excellent. To give you an idea of their size, let’s say that the kittens will be as large as houses and the cats as large as Founders Building, for those of you familiar with it.

These creatures will have added intelligence in order to brainwash them to the…um…Master’s cause. (Phew). Then they shall be used as our first defence against marauding foreigners. It’s very simple. However, we know that kittehs must have excitement. Therefore we also manufacture Giant Balls of Yarn. Preferably of the pink variety. With the yarn comes the necessity of food. This job looks set to have the highest mortality rate of any job, ever. And this is why we employ chavs.

Well you can’t argue with the job satisfaction. Who doesn’t like playing with kittehs? Just that these are a little bigger. His Majesty sees it as killing two birds with that one extremely useful stone. Chavs with food bags are deposited inside cat bowl, overseer rings bell that sounds like a box of biscuits, kitteh comes running, chavs open food bags, skid on jellied meat, scramble to avoid large pink tongue, claw at slippery sides of bowl, fail to get out and are lapped up—ASBOs and all—by aforesaid tongue. What a perfect solution.

Despite all this, I know how I will meet my death:

Look! A kitteh! Kittttteeeeehhhhh! Come here Kitttteeeeehhhhh! You’re such a good kitteh aren’t you? You’re licking me, that’s so sweet! Do you have any friends? I’ll be your friend, kitteh, do you want to some milk? I think the nearest swimming pool is that way, shall we go together? Awwww kitttteeeeehhhh, i love—–NO kitteh, what are you doing!? Kitteh put me down! Ahhhh, you’re dripping funny smelling water all over me! No kitteh no! My legs! Oh god! But I can’t be mad at you. No! My arms, my arms!

And so forth.

If you think kittehs are excellent, you will appreciate this cartoon.

I am afraid I must report to His uh Highness now. He is not all tyrannical—well he is but He doesn’t like to brag—and has made a facility for comment available to you. Speak wisely, He values the truth, as long as it’s His truth. Peace out.

 

No Sir, I would never think to warn them, I made it out like you described to me, I followed your advice, I swear it, I am a dedicated serva—slave to you Sir. I would do anything for you! Anything! I have always been— what? Well uh when I said ‘anything’ I didn’t mean—oh Sir no what I meant was—you can’t make me Sir! No!