The secret diary of . . . The Abominable Peters
The Abominable Peters walked for three days and four nights through the frozen polar wastes. He rested now and then to melt ice in a tin pot over a gas flame and cook a dried meat powder mixed with melted fat and raisins. The hot broth gave him strength. He needed it at his age. He would turn 279 in the spring.
Finally he came to his hut on the edge of a lake. It was a small, dark hut, heavy with the smell of nicotine and beer: a crowd of people had been waiting for him to give a speech advertised as The State of the Nation and Everything in the Universe As Well.
Their applause brought a smile to his lips. It poured over him like honey. He felt like a great bear gorging on the sweet substance. He went behind a silk screen and changed out of his snowboots and wolfskin anorak into a suit from Barkers and a pair of gleaming black shoes. This took him an hour. Then he applied a hair oil. Its consistency was relatively thin, making it quick to absorb, and gave his hair a lustre and shine. This took him three hours.
When he was ready, he played a disc on the turntable: Tubthumping by Chumbawamba. Its uplifting beat filled the hut as he took to the stage to even louder applause.
He waited for it to subside, and then fixed the audience with a solemn gaze. He was the greatest orator of his age and knew the power of silence. The audience instinctively leaned forward towards the edge of their seats. He maintained his silence for four hours. It was a risky tactic; some people fell asleep, and others suspected that he had fallen asleep, too. But for most in the audience it created a tension, which grew ever sharper, ever more menacing.
“The state of the nation and everything in the universe as well,” he finally began, “is bad.”
TUESDAY
The Abominable Peters continued his speech. He talked of the evils of hoodlums and revolutionaries known as the Left Wing Media Shills Gang. These people asked questions, he said. The audience booed. These people challenge authority, he said. The audience screamed. These people want answers, he said. The audience picked up clubs and pikes, and declared they would go hunting for Left Wing Media Shills.
“Wait,” he instructed, “for there is an even greater peril.”
WEDNESDAY
The Abominable Peters continued his speech. He talked of the evils of a marauding gang known as the Nazi M¯aori Elite gang. These people think they are racially superior, he said. The audience drafted legislation calling for the immediate abolition of te reo M¯aori in government departments. These people demand rights and want co-governance, he said. The audience put on white robes with slits for eyes. These people are coming for your land and your water, he said. The audience picked up clubs and pikes, and declared they would go hunting for the Nazi M¯aori Elite Gang.
“Wait,” he instructed, “for there is an even greater peril.”
THURSDAY
The Abominable Peters said that the Left Wing Media Shills Gang and the Nazi M¯aori Elite Gang had joined forces.
He was asked, “What name do they go by now, so we can hunt them down with our pikes and clubs?”
He fixed them with a solemn gaze, and intoned, “The Democracy Gang.”
The audience lost its goddamned mind.
FRIDAY
The Abominable Peters wanted to end his speech by playing the uplifting beat of Tubthumping by Chumbawamba, but the band had sent a message telling him to cease and desist.
He stood on the stage in silence. No one knew how long it would last, but they settled into their chairs, and waited for the next warning of grave danger that would pass from his lips.