The Banned Game

Charles liked the new game that he had discovered with his Jenny. The more Miss Jenny said "squirl" when he told her to repeat the word "squirrel", the more he enjoyed it. Although Miss Jenny seemed to be tiring of the game somewhat, the squirrel - or squirl - didn't seem to mind at all. Charles racked his brain to think of more words that rhymed with squirrel, in order for Miss Jenny to pronounce these also.

Worriedly, he considered whether they had discovered another word like "orange", which had become infamous among English scholars and wannabe-poets for having no other words to rhyme with it.

When Charles couldn't think of any words to rhyme with "squirrel" (or "orange" for that matter), he quickly found an online site for rhyming words. To his great shock, the online site for rhyming words suggested such words as "curl", "earl", "girl", "swirl" and "twirl".

"These words don't rhyme with squirrel!" he exclaimed exasperatedly. "They rhyme with squirl!"

Miss Jenny nodded her head sagely, as if it was something she had known all along.

"Could it be?" Charles thought to himself worriedly, "All this time, I've been pronouncing 'squir-rel', when in fact, the word is 'squirl'?"

"It certainly is more efficient on syllables," Miss Jenny explained patiently. "You'd be amazed how much more efficiently information can be conveyed by this accent."

Charles looked at Miss Jenny and her new squirl, and smiled. Not only did Miss Jenny have a lovely accent, she was also funny, clever, and surprisingly efficient.

The chipmunks also loved LanolinLand, and testified it was where they could just be themselves, and nobody mistook them for squirrels, because there were no squirrels in Lanolinland.

Jacinda was nonplussed. She hadnt counted on the animals vote. In fact, she had totally forgotten about them even though they out numbered the humans on Lanolinland millions to one.

The horse faced woman galloped into the boardroom and immediately closed the door behind her. Then with her hooves she dialed the mysterious number. It was to her puppet master. His thick accent was enough to send chills down your spine. He gave her specific instructions. She put the phone down and immediately followed his detailed instructions. It seems that this creepy puppet master intended on taking over Shittimistan, Jennymaesia, Lanolinland, Mosestaria and the Ruby triangle

Jacinda was furious. She had been planning on changing the countries name to JacindaLand and Miss Lanolin had beat her to it, plus taken over when she wasnt looking. Lanolinland! It sounded worse than Helensville.

And now all the chairs were taken in Parliament. She had to either sit on the floor, or walk around all the time and her high heels were hurting her feet. And what was this business about a Kelp Kurtain? Everyone knew you didnt spell Kurtain with a K.

“This is odd”, Charles said puzzled, “our intelligence has just picked up some intel showing that a man with a thick accent is planning on taking over this country”. Ms Jenny yawned. “There’s always some yahoo trying to take over, who’s the make-believe character this time?” Charles didn’t know. Only that his accent was thick. “Hmm”, Ms Jenny thought out loud, “if our intel say his accent’s thick, he must be from New England or someplace in the vicinity”. Charles nodded, even though his Antarctica accent was rather on the thick side too. “He’s also known as a puppet master”, he could add, “and did you know there’s a conflict in Lanolinland? Some high heeled woman is trying to take over.” Ms Jenny raised her eyebrows. “I’m using high heels on a daily basis, are they trying to drag me into their mess?” Charles smiled. “No, apparently she’s got a horse face as well.”

He read the next message with utter disbelief. “The Kiwis are marching in Lanolinland”, Charles refreshed the page frenetically in order to get the latest news. “The birds, the fruits or the islanders?” Ms Jenny asked. “It doesn’t say”, he said in a hushed voice. “Dangerous times indeed”, they agreed on in unison.

The horse-faced woman let out a long, whinny of frustration "Neiiiiigggghhhhhh!" She had been counting on her puppet-master to end the philistine queen's long rule of tyranny and fake-news over Lanolinland, and perhaps even allow her to rename it in her own honour - JacindaLand, but instead her thick-accented puppet master had imparted some painful home-truths. The hideous creature trotted down the corridor to her own office, where she proceeded to comfort herself by nestling her long muzzle into her nose bag.

Meanwhile, back in the Mosestarian sector of Antarctica on Petermann Island, the Great Chieftain dabbed his brow with his handkerchief. There was something about a telephone conversation with Jacinda that just made him sick to his very stomach. It wasn't just that she was the spitting image of a horse - even a talking horse. It wasn't just that she seemed too ugly to be a mare while yet too unpredictable and shrill to be a stallion. But to sell one's own countrymen out - whether animal, vegetable or mineral - to the World Economic Forum to save one's own sorry hide.. The Great Chieftain sighed as he put away his action figures - Miss Ruby, Morty, their three children and the triangular-shaped map of Flat Earth. This would have to be a scheme he resumed another day.

If Tzipora were not so busy, he would have involved her in the scheming, but with Bubba getting older and hungrier, more and more of Tzipora's time was being spent on weaning the child, and less and less on assisting him with world domination. He hesitated. He was unsure what the other national leaders would think, were they to learn that he had favoured the repugnant philistine queen and chief pedlar of spam and fake-news over the even more contemptible equine creature. He was acutely aware that the other leaders treated him as if he were somehow different - whether it was always being the last invited to a Golden Gate bridge opening ceremony, or having all of his non-parcel mail being returned to sender, or being accidentally left out from making the invitation list for group beauty-therapy sessions at the Jennymaesian spa on multiple occasions. Despite these less-than-desirable circumstances, the Lanolinland horse/philistine problem needed a solution, and that solution would need the support of at least one other leader.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly dialed Miss Ruby's telephone number.

The guinea pigs wondered who the mysterious puppet master was. Jim Henson? No, he was dead.
The guy who is the voice of Elmo! What was his name...Kevin somebody? He had a thick accent.

Miss Ruby tucked the three small children into bed and read them a story till all three were sound asleep. Morty was away on business. She grabbed a glass of champagne and sat outside in the court yard enjoying the evening breeze. She was feeling tired. Looking after three small children and running the Ruby triangle left her rather exhausted. Luckily Morty was an excellent hands on father and her Ruby clones also assisted. She was enjoying the silence and the champagne tasted extra nice. She was just about dosing off when her phone rang. It was the Chieftan.

She spoke briefly with the Chieftan who sounded tired himself. She could relate, although he had gone on to having twelve children, four lots of triplets with Tzipora. He had to get a job to help keep his family fed as well as money for Tzipora beauty and botox treatments. The Chieftan asked Miss Ruby if she had read her emails. Something about a creepy dictator with a strong accent going by the name of Klaus Schwab. Miss Ruby explained that she had not checked her email in a week to which the Chieftan impatiently replied for her to read his email and get back to him.

Having some time to finally do so, Miss Ruby read the email. She gasped in shock. Who does this Schwab think he is, trying to take over the world including the Ruby Triangle. It was much too late to speak to the Chieftan so she decided she would call the following morning.

“Looks like Lanolinland is now being ruled by animals”, Charles was reading the latest intel. “How so?” Ms Jenny wondered. “The animals have overthrown the President, ignored the horse face and cut ties with the Commonwealth”, Charles went on. “Where is the President now?” Ms Jenny was a bit worried. “I don’t know that, but they’ll be broadcasting the inauguration of the new leader in five minutes!”

The new leader’s speech was a shock to the people of the world. All mammals, humans included, was banned from the country. Birds were in control. The CiC was a kiwi bird. The regime still hadn’t decided on whether reptiles were allowed to stay. A heartbreaking interview with a possum was the only traces of mammals and was only to be found on internet sites not yet being shut down by the SASS (Secret Anti Search Services).

The kiwi birds had a field day. Seeing that they couldn’t fly by themselves, all eagles were nationalized to serve the kiwi masters.

“This is outrageous!” Ms Jenny said sternly, “they’re turning the country into a communist nest!”

“It’s literally Animal Farm now”, Charles chuckled.

The kiwis had their Fielday and thousands descended upon Mystery Creek to celebrate over a week of kiwi ingenuity.
This time instead of tractors and agricultural displays, and the Mad butcher raffles, the kiwis hosted light shows and mock pillow fights. They dyed their feathers bright colours, and sang their songs and planted more trees. They flew new fangled solar powered pedicopters and hang gliders and hot air balloons and tested out Mary Poppins brand umbrellas.

They also played lotto, which was their favourite game. It was a wonderful time to be a kiwi in Lanolinland.

Jacinda, her fiance and 3 year old daughter decided a holiday was in order, since Lanolinland was now off limits. They flew to the Cook Islands where Rachel Hunter was nominated Beauty Queen.

Rachel was taking her new role seriously and had given up teaching yoga and was now preaching the gospel to everyone wearing jandals. Shortland Street had written her out of the show

Jacinda did not particularly like wearing jandals, or sitting on the beach doing nothing except wait for her skin to turn brown but there was aboslutely nothing she could do about it.

The Great Chieftain smiled. It had been good to hear from Miss Ruby that morning. She had been strangely understanding of the Great Chieftain's plight, and although she didn't seem to have condoned his support of the philistine queen Lanolin - or Lanoline as the queen sometimes now referred to herself in an effort to distance herself from all her past fake-news publishing - Miss Ruby seemed to totally understand the importance of Klaus Schwab not taking over the whole world, and especially the Ruby Triangle.

The Great Chieftain had explained his theory to her - that Klaus Schwab was just a more mature manifestation of the parasitic growth that many had already observed protruding from the forehead of the Great Barry R Island Premier, Mr Mark McGown - but Miss Ruby had seemed to go distant when the Great Chieftain had mentioned this. The Great Chieftain knew that the Great Barry R Island Premier's good mate - the new Primal Minister Anty All-Bologna had recently issued a decree declaring as terrorists anyone who mentioned snake oil, horse dewormer or the fact that parasitically-controlled politicians had taken over the Great Barry R Island. The previous Primal Minister - who was the son of Scott Morris - had been arrested for world record-breaking amounts of fraud, but as pretty much all the politicians "were in it together", none of them seemed to be considering throwing Morris's fraudulent son to the alligators, or placing his ignoble behind on a long, sharp, appropriately thick spike or similar...

The Great Chieftain had shrugged - Miss Ruby had her own Ruby Triangle, but perhaps she feared those disgusting politicians would use her Golden Gate bridge without paying the access fee, and then attempt to invade her island if she discussed anything that could remotely be construed as "snake oil", "horse dewormer" or "parasite takeover". Or perhaps... perhaps she was just maintaining her world record of being the least suspected leader? The Great Chieftain had wished Miss Ruby and her (absent) Morty and their three young children a very merry Christmas, and many more blessings to come. He had started explaining to Miss Ruby that children are the best blessing of all, and that he wished her many more, before suddenly realising the phone had gone dead. She must have fallen asleep, the Great Chieftain explained to himself.

With Christmas approaching quickly, the Great Chieftain knew he would be too busy finding presents for his own twelve demanding children and Bubba, not to mention a larger botox supply for Tzipora's ever-wrinkling features. He hesitated - he knew if he was to get in touch with Miss Jenny of Jennymaesia before Christmas, now would be his only chance, but he really didn't want to talk to that sissy clone again. Slowly, the Great Chieftain keyed in Miss Jenny's telephone number, hoping against hope that Eagle Two would not answer...

SSSS received an order for 12 presents to send to Mosetaria but the accompanying letter did not specify how good each child had been.

The penguins were confused, this wasnt the way it was supposed to work!

David Rabbitborough reported some disturbing findings about Shittimstan. It seemed their esteemed leader was related to Charles.

Charles Darwin, who was engaged to marry Miss Jennymae. It was his mysterious half brother, Darth Darwin and he was involved with some crazy eugenics world domination secret brotherhood illuminati Da Vinci Code club. Also he was an albino.

“Empress’ office! State your name or else!” The new secretary had not yet been tuned in for answering the incoming telephones from the outside world in a correct manner. The Chieftain hesitated for a split second due to her unprofessional behavior, but then pulled himself together and somewhat patiently demanded that the sassy clerk let him talk to Ms Jenny. “Why ya want tawkin’ with her for?” the obnoxious clerk in a pretty informal manner asked the high ranking caller. The Chieftain regretted being hostile to the idea of speaking with the sissy clone, who (or which) was a humdinger compared to this trash talking nail painting hick.

“Ya know, Ms Jenny ain’t accepting calls from whoever or his uncle, so ya best hang up and don’t be calling no more”, the obviously not to mature girl said while chewing her bubble gum, or so it sounded. “Whatcha want anyways?”

The Chieftain cleared his throat and explained his business. “Ya want her to fix your Christmas presents?” the clerk said arrogantly. “Well, yeah, it’s a known fact that women do a better job at this than men, and seeing that my bride to be is busy caring for her babies, I think it’s a fair game to except that Ms Jenny do that for me”, the Chieftain said a little more insecure than before he dialed the Empress’ number. “Sir, the only thing the Empress is doing for Christmas is helping Santa have enough coal for the bad ones. It’s clear that you’re in the coal section”, the bubble gum clerk said stubbornly.

The Chieftain could no longer comprehend why he had grudges against the now very manly clone. Yet he wanted Ms Jenny’s delicate hands to handle his presents. When he tried to do it himself, it all became a mess.

Finally!

“Chieftain! What a pleasant surprise!” Miss Jenny said cheerfully, “I’d be happy to help”.

The Great Chieftain had a lot to say to Miss Jenny in order to convince her to commit Jennymaesian support to defeat the WEF, but unfortunately, due to the way the sun revolved about the Flat Earth (often shining on the Great Chieftain first) and also because of the time he'd already wasted speaking with the trash-talking, nail-painting hick on the telephone, it was going to be Christmas shortly, and he still had 12 stockings to fill and 12 sets of presents to wrap and deliver (13 if he counted Bubba, and 14 if he counted Tzipora).

Instead, he decided to send Miss Jenny a rather convincing but somewhat insulting note at a later time, and for the moment, just wish her - and dare he mention him - Charles (i.e. Eagle Two Charles, not Charles Darwin Charles who almost certainly was going to be experiencing another hellishly hot one) - a Merry Christmas.

Miss Jenny was left a little surprised and somewhat frustrated with the Great Chieftain's parting remark "Oh, and be sure to wish Queen Lanoline a Merry Christmas from me also."

As Miss Ruby eagerly awaited the new car Santa promised her this year she emailed her fellow empress's and emperor's on this thread a very Merry Christmas and a blessed, healthy and safe new year. She looked at her clock and estimated Santa would be arriving in her new car in approximately an hour and a half. She wondered what colour the car would be?

The Great Chieftain, kicking back now after a busy evening of filling 12 stockings (two people were going to be somewhat disappointed in the morning), decided to send his fellow Empress a text message. "Red", it stated. "Ruby red". "And I hope you're a good driver, because fast doesn't begin to describe it's speed..."

President Lanolin had made her christmas wish, though she had revised it when Kevin found her magic wand in the cupboard. She had been looking for it everywhere.

No, this year her wish was that she could grow wings and fly.

As night descended upon Lanolinland, the SSSS began emptying its contents until it was completely bare. The children of Lanolinland would find in the morning that they all had the keys to the Kingdom. They just had to find the right door.

Hairy's new gig as a Santa seemed like a sure thing.... then the kids started crying and running away...........
Merry Christmas to all anyway He called!