The tail belonging to the dogsbody politic denies being in control. I don’t wag anything, he claims disingenuously.
“In fact, the mere notion that one could be considered to be in charge is rather uplifting,” he wagged. So uplifted is he, that he is no longer able to conceal the dogsbody’s arse.
Nevertheless, the body is being dragged, inexorably, towards the point of no return. The tail, which lacks any true vision, appears to be controlling a worryingly docile dog.
“Believe me when I say that it has nothing to do with me and my fleas,” insisted the tail. “We owe our very existence to the body, and the fact that we suck its blood and cause it enormous irritation is irrelevant. It is equally irrelevant to suggest that the massive weight dangling over the cliff edge, tied to myself and labelled ‘Property of Mr. V. Putin’, has anything to do with the current unfortunate situation.”
Reassuring words indeed.
There are cunning plans afoot to dock the tail in order to save the dog. Rebel MP Chuka Handgrenade expanded the idea for us. “An animal dangling by the tail over a blazing pit of sulphur will rely upon the tail for its survival,” Chuka said. “It would even worship the parasites determined to drain its strength in order to preserve its own hide. Remove this renegade tail, and the dog will live to fight another day.”
The dog’s head is determined to speak out of its own arse, and refuses to acknowledge the inevitable result of stalling until it is too late. It refuses to bring its own tail under control or to seek treatment for the fleas. It is completely barking, the tired bark of a dog that has, in truth, given up.
Life’s a bitch. It’s hardly the dog’s bollocks, much more a dog’s breakfast. Pedigree Chum, anyone?