The Guarantor. I see him, arms akimbo, cape hanging to the heels of his tight fitting boots, a steely look in the eyes beneath the mask. Here rides the superhero who will see The Promise is kept, The Promise, laid before the people of Scottiya in a yellowed parchment signed by the Triumvirate of the Three, and delivered to them by Loose-Jaw the Brown, the high-potentate (ret’d) of the Black Benches.
Loose-Jaw the Brown, the once-mighty, drew up the promise for the Triumvirate to show how true leaders lead. The Triumvirate stood like prophets of Doom heaping visions of the worst possible on the rebellious Yes-Men all to rally the Noe-Men to join with their cause. Their prophecies, for all their awfulness, drowned each other out, loud, dismal, cacophonous.
In truth the Yes-Men, the Aye-Right brigands, believed in a future where all things were possible. The Triumvirate believed the impossible dream of the Yes-Men could never be. Yet their tissue of horror shredded in the wind of a thousand voices as the Yessers cried out, such was their passion.
The Yessers message went far and wide. The people were wild with it. Behind them stood the Notionalists of the Holy Rood, the Greeners and the Left-handed Children of Toil. Their cry was YES to Freedom. The Triumvirate responded, say Noe for More Freedom Later!
So, Loose-Jaw the Brown, made his stand for Noe. This we all promise! We will deliver more promise together than you could hope for apart. Join with us and defeat the Yes-Campers! Do this and we’ll sit down together, all of us and all of you to make a plan for the future.
In the end, the Noes had it. The Triumvirate sat down on the day after the defeat of the Yessers to make a start. But the Benchers of the Triumvirate had not been asked about The Promise. They demanded different things and their uproar was awful. Some wanted all the future for themselves, some the same future as the Yesses and Noes would have by The Promise. In secret some said, God rot them, we’ll give them The Promise and our left hand will steal it back again. Ingrates and whiners. The deserve nothing!
Loose-Jaw the Brown rode North again to the Fifedom of Fief. There he plotted a new way to secure his Promise. He secretly raised a list of names, a list for Scottiyes to sign and demand The Promise be kept. Once 90, 000 names were on it he revealed it for his own. This he mused will do the trick.
And yet the bickering went on. From the South. Nige the Enrager call the Scottiyes a rabble and brooked no deal at all. The Torrids of the Triumvirate worked to change The Promise’s promises. The Lubbers looked on afraid of what they stood to lose by what they thought was victory. They sharpened their little daggers for the day they’d cut to pieces all the Notionalists and Greeners, all the Left-handed of the Holy Rood, in all the cities of Scottiya.
From the Triumvirate rose The Guarantor at last. With his cape and boots, his dinky mask and superpowers, he waved in the air his delicate hand and said, I will bring The Promise to be. I will guarantee it. I, the one they called the Clegg, have come as the Nick of Time.
The brothern and sistern of the Holy Rood stood aghast. They felt their belts for courage but still stood firm. As one they howled into the South-facing night. Aye, right. Ya bass! Aye, right!
Fantasy following Nick Clegg's emergence as the Guarantor of the Vow, also known as the Pig in the Poke. It's all on the BBC.
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