A long time ago, in the evil, evil Kerry Packer headquarters, there hid a nasty, little Slimer which took advantage of Mr. Packer’s uncivilized behaviour. Kerry Packer, one of Australia’s esteemed mafioso elites, having the patience of a pit-bull and the intuition of a dung beetle, would summon his staff by calling them and abruptly stating, “ Kerry Packer here, come to my office.” Then terminating his calls with the same finesse as his introduction. Of course, such refinement and empathy inspired immediate attention, and those who chose not to obey his laws a pink invitation slip would greet them following day.
The resourceful, little Slimer took advantage of Kerry’s unsophisticated ways and put it to use by creating his very own staff filtering system. It would call journalists and staff members impersonating the God-dung Himself. When the oblivious staff member promptly reported himself to the Dung-ball’s chamber, he would be greeted with foul language followed by a pink slip.
Word travelled quickly through the evil headquarters, but no one was brave enough to tell Mr Dung the truth. Staff chose to live in fear over facing the evil master in person. If the fake dung beetle called and the journalist chose to follow through the request, they risked being fired. If it was the real dung beetle who called and the journalist did not proceed, they also risked being fired. Quite a conundrum. Soon enough, after several staff reshuffles, the Slimer achieved his goal and was never heard of again.
For some coincidental reason, the recent poltergeist activities occurring in the federal Parliament House prompted this old phantasmagorical memory to appear in my head, again. And is it any wonder with all the paranormal activities occurring on a daily basis!? Lights switch off and on at the most inopportune moment. Alarm bells are sounded just when the rapefugee panic gripped the pollies. Ghost hatters are hacking into pollies servers. And an innocent staff member who was prancing around the corridors of the parliament very late at night, minding his own business, suddenly got possessed by an evil entity which turned him into a serial killer forcing him to strike an elderly senator and drawing blood! Could there be naughty, little Gremlins or Slimers living in the air ducts of the Parliament House or is this entity something more sinister? And what is its end-game? If I worked there an unregistered nuclear accelerator sure would sound mighty appealing. My advice: learn to meditate and purify your souls as you never know is God appears before you and asks, ” Choose the form of your destructor.”
Annabelle @ The Art of Flag-waving
The Art of Flag-waving 