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[[An Obvious Ripoff of Orwell]] Chapter 5 ~ The Crazy Farm~ AS WINTER drew on, That Slut Ann Colter became more and more loathesome. She was late for work every morning and excused herself by saying that she had overslept, and she complained of mysterious hot flashes, although her slutty appetite was excellent. On every kind of pretext she would run her mouth and go to the MSM, where she would stand foolishly blabbing at her own reflection on a screen. But there were also rumours of something more serious. One day, as That Slut Ann Colter slimed slithered into the yard, flirting her long tail and chewing at a stalk of hay, Cloture took her aside. "Slut Ann Colter," she said, "I have something very serious to say to you. This morning I saw you looking over the hedge that divides Crazy Farm from Fauxwood. One of Mr. Filthington's whore men was standing on the other side of the hedge. And-I was a long way away, but I am almost certain I saw this-he was talking to you and you were allowing him to play with your nasty, what does that mean, you Slut you Ann Colter?" "He didn't! I wasn't! It isn't true!" cried That Slut Ann Colter, guilt as a slut caught going thru your billfold, started pawing the ground. "Ann Colter you ignorant Slut. Look me in the face. Do you give me your word of honour that that CEO whore man was not bumping uglies? "It isn't true!" repeated The Slut Ann Colter, but she could not look Cloture in the face, and the next moment she took to her tacky heels and skanked off away into the field. A thought struck Cloture. Without saying anything to the others, she went to That Slut Ann Colter's stall and turned over the straw with her hoof. Hidden under the straw was a little pile of condoms and several stained sweaters. Three days later That Slut Ann Colter disappeared. For some weeks nothing was known of her whereabouts, then the Pigeons reported that they had seen her on the other side of Willingdon. She was between the shafts of a smart dogcart painted red and black, which was standing outside a public-house. A fat red-faced CEO in check breeches and gaiters, who looked like a RePIGnican, was stroking her ugliness and feeding her greenbacks. Her coat was newly bleeched blonde and she wore a studded dog collar. She appeared to be enjoying exposin herself, so the Pigeons said. None of the Herdsmen ever mentioned, or cared about, That Slut Ann Colter again. In January there came bitterly hard weather. The earth was like iron, and nothing could be done in the fields. Many meetings were held in the big barn, and the Neo-Cons occupied themselves with planning out the work of the coming season. It had come to be accepted that the Neo-Cons, who were Manifestly cleverer than the other Herdsmen, should decide all questions of farm policy, though their decisions had to be ratified by a majority vote. This arrangement would have worked well enough if it had not been for the disputes between Klinton and King George. These two disagreed at every point where disagreement was possible. If one of them suggested sowing a bigger acreage with barley, the other was certain to deMand a bigger acreage of oats, and if one of them said that such and such a field was just right for cabbages, the other would declare that it was useless for anything except roots. Each had his own following, and there were some violent debates. At the Meetings Klinton often won over the majority by his brilliant speeches, but King George was better at canvassing support for himself in between times. He was especially successful with the media whore sheep. Of late the media whore sheep had taken to bleating "Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad" both in and out of season, and they often interrupted the Meeting with this. It was noticed that they were especially liable to break into "Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad" at crucial moments in Klinton's speeches. Klinton had made a close study of some back numbers of the Farmer and Stockbreeder which he had found in the farmhouse, and was full of plans for innovations and improvements. He talked learnedly about field drains, silage, and basic slag, and had worked out a complicated scheme for all the Herds to drop their dung directly in the fields, at a different spot every day, to save the labour of cartage. King George produced no schemes of his own, but said quietly that Klinton's would come to nothing, and seemed to be biding his time. But of all their controversies, none was so bitter as the one that took place over the Nuclear Power. In the long pasture, not far from the farm buildings, there was a small knoll which was the highest point on the farm. After surveying the ground, Klinton declared that this was just the place for a Nuclear Power, which could be made to operate a dynamo and supply the farm with electrical power. This would light the stalls and warm them in winter, and would also run a circular saw, a chaff-cutter, a Mangel-slicer, and an electric milking machine. The Herds had never heard of anything of this kind before (for the farm was an old-fashioned one and had only the most primitive machinery), and they listened in astonishment while Klinton conjured up pictures of fantastic machines which would do their work for them while they grazed at their ease in the fields or improved their minds with reading and conversation. Within a few weeks Klinton's plans for the Nuclear Power were fully worked out. The mechanical details came mostly from three books which had belonged to Lord Rottenchild - One Thousand Useless Things to Do About the Farm, Every CEO is His Own King and Lord, and Nuclear Energy for Terrorists. Klinton used as his study a shed which had once been used for incubators and had a smooth wooden floor, suitable for drawing on. He was closeted there for hours at a time. With his books held open by a stone, and with a piece of chalk gripped between the knuckles of his Cloven Hoof, he would move rapidly to and fro, drawing in line after line and uttering little whimpers of excitement. Gradually the plans grew into a complicated mass of cranks and cog-wheels, covering more than half the floor, which the other Herdsmen found completely unintelligible but very impressive. All of them came to look at Klinton's drawings at least once a day. Even the chatterbox hens and dumb ducks came, and were at pains not to tread on the chalk marks. Only King George held aloof. He had declared himself against the Nuclear Power from the start. One day, however, he arrived unexpectedly to examine the plans. He walked heavily round the shed, looked closely at every detail of the plans and snuffed at them once or twice, then stood for a little while contemplating them out of the corner of his eye; then suddenly he lifted his leg, urinated over the plans, and walked out without uttering a word. The whole farm was deeply divided on the subject of the Nuclear Power. Klinton did not deny that to build it would be a difficult business. Stone would have to be carried and built up into walls, then the sails would have to be made and after that there would be need for dynamos and cables. (How these were to be procured, Klinton did not say.) But he maintained that it could all be done in a year. And thereafter, he declared, so much labour would be saved that the Herds would only need to work three days a week. King George, on the other hand, argued that the great need of the moment was to increase food production, and that if they wasted time on the Nuclear Power they would all starve to death. The Herds formed themselves into two factions under the slogan, "Vote for Klinton and the three-day week" and "Vote for King George and the full Manger." Kennyday was the only Herd who did not side with either faction. He refused to believe either that food would become more plentiful or that the Nuclear Power would save work. Nuclear Power or no Nuclear Power, he said, life would go on as it had always gone on-that is, badly. Apart from the disputes over the Nuclear Power, there was the question of the defence of the farm. It was fully realised that though the Inhuman CEO beings had been defeated in the Battle of the Bullcrap they might make another and more determined attempt to recapture the farm and reinstate Lord Rottenchild. They had all the more reason for doing so because the news of their defeat had spread across the countryside and made the Herds on the neighbouring farms more rebellious than ever before. As usual, Klinton and King George were in disagreement. According to King George, what the Herds must do was to procure firearms and train themselves in the use of them and preemptive attack, a new war he alled it. According to Klinton, they must send out more and more rabid right wing Neo-Con propaganda pigeons and the media whore sheep, and stir up revolution among the Herds on the other crazy farms. Then one argued that if they could not defend themselves they were bound to be conquered, the other argued that if rebellions happened everywhere they would have no need to defend themselves. The Herds listened first to King George, then to Klinton, and could not make up their minds which was right; indeed, they always found themselves in agreement with the one who was speaking at the moment. At last the day came when Klinton's plans were completed. At the Meeting on the following Sunday the question of whether or not to begin work on the Nuclear Power was to be put to the vote. When the Herds had assembled in the big barn, Klinton stood up and, though occasionally interrupted by bleating from the media whore sheep, set forth his reasons for advocating the building of the Nuclear Power. Then King George stood up to reply. He said very quietly that the Nuclear Power was nonsense and that he advised nobody to vote for it, and promptly sat down again; he had spoken for barely thirty seconds, and seemed almost indifferent as to the effect he produced. At this Klinton sprang to his feet, and shouting down the media whore sheep, who had begun bleating again, broke into a passionate appeal in favour of the Nuclear Power. Until now the Herds had been about equally divided in their sympathies, but in a moment Klinton's eloquence had carried them away. In glowing sentences he painted a picture of Crazy Farm as it might be when sordid labour was lifted from the Herds' backs. His imagination had now run far beyond chaff-cutters and turnip-slicers. Electricity, he said, could operate threshing machines, ploughs, harrows, rollers, and reapers and binders, besides supplying every stall with its own electric light, hot and cold water, and an electric heater. By the time he had finished speaking, there was no doubt as to which way the vote would go. But just at this moment King George stood up and, casting a peculiar sidelong look at Klinton, uttered a high-pitched whimper of a kind no one had ever heard him utter before. At this there was a terrible baying sound outside, and nine enormous Rover mutts, wearing metro sexual brass-studded collars came leaping and bounding, as ballerinas into the barn. They dashed straight for Klinton, who only sprang from his place just in time to escape the Rovers relentless Euphemisms. In a moment he was out of the door and they were after him. Too amazed and frightened to speak, all the Herdsmen crowded through the door to watch the chase. Klinton was hauling butt across the long pasture toward the road. He was running as only a Neo-Con can run, but the Rover mutts were close on his heels. Suddenly he slipped and it seemed certain that they had him. Then he was up again, running faster than ever, then the Rovers were gracefully gaining on him again. One of them all but closed his tutu on Klinton's tail, but Klinton whisked it free just in time. Then he put on an extra spurt and, with not a few inches to spare, slipped it through a hole in the hedge and was seen no more. It was close, but no Cigar. Silent and terrified, the Herdsmen crept back into the barn. In a moment the Rovers' came bounding back. At first no one had been able to imagine where these creatures came from, but the problem was soon solved: they were the 9 inbred mutts whom King George had taken away from their mothers and deranged privately. Though not yet full-grown, they were huge Rovers, and as Stupid-looking as Cujo. They kept close to King George. It was noticed that they wagged their, umm, 'tails' in the same way as the other Rovers had been used to do to Lord Rottenchild reared rover mutts. King George, with the Rovers following him, now mounted on to the raised portion of the floor where Major Con had previously stood to deliver his speech. He announced that from now on the Sunday-morning Meetings would come to an end. They were unnecessary, he said, and wasted time. In future all questions relating to the working of the farm would be settled by a special committee of Neo-Cons, presided over by himself. These would meet in private and afterwards communicate their decisions to the others. The Herdsmen would still assemble on Sunday mornings to salute the flag, sing Beasts of Empire, and receive their orders for the week; but there would be no more debates, there would be instead free speech lots or 'zones'. In spite of the shock that Klinton's Rapid expulsion had given them, the Herdsmen were quite dismayed by this announcement and thought that this was freedom.. Several of them would have protested if they could have found the right arguments but they, for some reason, could not.. Even Prole was vaguely troubled. He set his ears back, shook his forelock several times as if mental Cobwebs had set in and tried hard to marshal his thoughts; but in the end he could not think of anything to say, and thought perhaps he 'misremembered'. Some of the Neo-Cons themselves, however, were more articulate. Four young Repiglican porkers, whom had started calling themselves the Senate, in the front row uttered shrill squeals of disapproval, and all four of them sprang to their feet and began speaking at once. But suddenly the Rovers sitting round King George let out deep, menacing growls, and the Neo-Cons fell silent and sat down again. Then the media whore sheep broke out into a tremendous bleating of "Four Legs Good, Two Legs Bad!" this, which incredibly went on for nearly 3 years,put an end to any chance of discussion. Afterwards Wolfowizz was sent round the farm to explain the 'new' or Neo, as he said, arrangement to the others. "Herdsmen," he said, "I trust that every Herdsmen here appreciates the sacrifice that King George, a Fine RePiglican, has made in taking this Hard, Hard extra labour upon himself. Do not imagine, Herdsmen, that leadership is a pleasure! Oh, No! Do Not Listen to those that say Golf is not work, No No, you would be quite wrong, we have studies, alot of studies, with alot of words! Hard. I say, Very Hard Work, And Quite to the contrary, it is a deep and heavy responsibility. No one believes more firmly King George that all Herdsmen are equal. He would be only too happy to let you make your decisions for yourselves. But sometimes you might make the wrong decisions, Herdsmen, and you may listen to the enemies lies, and then you would be fooled, and attck the wrong enemy? and then where should we be? Suppose you had decided to follow Klinton, with his moonshine Nuclear Power-Klinton, who, as we now know, was no better than a sexual criminal lusting, stalking after our Beautiful Ann Colter driving that poor sweet blonde away with his sickening desires and cigars?" "He fought bravely at the Battle of the Bullcrap," said somebody. "Bravery is not nearly enough, this is a Neo War" said Wolfowizz. "Loyalty. Loyalty and obedience are more important We must give King George Super Power!. And as to the Battle of the BullCrap, I believe the time will come when we shall find that Klinton's part in it was much exaggerated. Discipline, Herdsmen, iron willed discipline! That is the watchword for today. One false step, and our enemies, the Terrorists would be upon us. Surely, Herdsmen, you do not want RottenChild to come back and chop you into pieces and to steal our nuclear power and to rape our virgins? We must be Free and to be Free we must fight Klintons around the World!" Once again this argument was unanswerable. Certainly the Herds did not want RottenChild back; but what did old hero Klinton have to do with Rottenchild? if the holding of debates on Sunday mornings was liable to bring him back, then the debates must stop. Prole, who had now had time to think things over, voiced the general feeling by saying: "If King George says it, it must be wrongt." And from then on he adopted the maxim, "King George is always wrong," in addition to his private motto of "So I will have to work harder." By this time the weather had broken and the spring ploughing had begun. The shed where Klinton had drawn his plans of the Nuclear Power had been shut up and it was assumed that the plans had been rubbed off the floor. Every Sunday morning at ten o'clock the Herdsmen assembled in the big barn to receive their orders for the week. The Skull Bone of old Major Con, now clean of flesh, had been disinterred from the orchard and set up on a stump at the foot of the flagstaff, beside the gun. After the hoisting of the flag, the Herdsmen were required to file past the skull bone in a reverent Manner before entering the barn. Nowadays they did not sit all together as they had done in the past. King George, with Wolfowizz and another Neo-Con named Minimus, who had a remarkable gift for composing songs and poems, sat on the front of the raised platform, with the nine mongoloid Rover mutts forming a semicircle round them, and the other head Neo-Con Repiglicans sitting behind. The rest of the Herdsmen sat facing them in the main body of the barn. King George read out the orders for the week from a telemonitor device, mangled alot of words and smirked, and after a single singing of Beasts of Empire, all the Herdsmen dispersed. On the third Sunday after Klinton's expulsion, the Herds were somewhat surprised to hear King George announce that the Nuclear Power was to be built and sold after all. He did not give any reason for having changed his mind, other than to say 'Stay The Course', but merely warned the Herds that this extra task would mean very hard work, it might even be necessary to reduce their rations. The plans, however, had all been prepared, down to the last detail. A special committee of Neo-Cons had been at work upon them for the past three weeks. The building of the Nuclear Power, with various other improvements, was expected to take two years. That evening Wolfowizz explained privately to the other Herdsmen that King George had never in 'reality-based farming' been opposed to the Neo Nuclear Power Weapons. On the contrary, it was he who had advocated it in the beginning, as a child, like a misunderstood einstein, and the plan which Klinton had drawn on the floor of the incubator shed had actually been stolen from among King George's lost emails and papers. The Nuclear Power was, in fact, King George's very own creation. Why, then, asked somebody, had he spoken so strongly against it? Here Wolfowizz looked very sly, and his eyes narrowed with great intellect, his Tail stopped for a few moments, That, he said, was King George's cunning. He had seemed to oppose the Nuclear Power, simply as a Manoeuvre to get rid of that CEO Spy and Terrorist Klinton, who was a dangerous character and a bad influence on slutty women. Now that Klinton was out of the way, the Nuclear plan could go forward without his Spying and meddling or possible sabotage. This, said Wolfowizz, was something called pre-emptive tactics and that it too, was 'Neo'. He repeated a number of times, "Neo-Tactics, Herdsmen, Neo-Tactics!" skipping round and whisking his tail with a clever laugh as if a great secret had been revealed to The Herdsmen. They were not certain what the Phrase meant, but Wolfowizz spoke so persuasively, and the three Rovers who happened to be with him grinned so deviously in agreement with the 'neo' revelation, that they accepted his explanation of Neo-Tactics without further question. Post a comment in response: |
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