A GOVERNMENT OF THOUGHTS AND PRAYERS : ENGLAND AD 1348 – Faced with a looming public health emergency King Boris de piffle Johnson, of Uxbridge and South Tongueslip, ordered his golden throne set up in a Westminster square and addressed his people.
“Get Dying Done!” King Boris roared at the filth stained masses, in another sign that government by hard right populists and deceit quickly reduces satirists to a daily, binary choice between gallows humour and mere commentary (not every day, just many).
“Those pustules erupting in your groin, just give them a stab with something sharp. They’ll soon be gone. The cough wracking your chest? Try and cough over your neighbours, before they nail their front doors shut. This new curse was sent by God to reduce lines in my brow. Each one of you, endlessly moaning as you dig in the filth, you are a furrow on my brow. I do not care to till. I want my brow as flawless as the skin of my young mistresses.”
The decision to let the plague just run its course made a lot of sense.
“It will take care of the social care problem! Our Abbeys are overflowing with lepers. I told you I had a plan! It’ll solve the housing market by freeing up the homes of many elderly. And just think of the boost to the economy once the equity of all those inheritances is released into the wife markets of our towns and villages? It really is a blessing, this new form of death, it’s not a curse. And besides, I would rather spend my time in private consideration of my majesty, and affairs, I prefer it if God takes care of you.”
The choice also took care of the difficult problem of how do you convince a populace, so many of whom are willingly dumbed down by the distractions of bread and endless circuses, to show a little spirit and look to each other for a week or two? Before their own interests are directly threatened?
Too thorny a knot. The King has seen the recent Revolt of Bogroll hill.
Get Dying Done! Take it on the chin! There’s a good people. King Boris is busy and bored with you, he has heirs to produce.
The shepherd cares not to tend his flock, but let the wolves of pestilence loose among it.
They say a country gets the government it deserves, perhaps after the scourge of illness has run its course, the country might once again decide to deserve something better than government by cranks and chancers, fronts for the new feudal barons of our time…