The Pygmy Giant

by Dave Early

How we love a fool in this country. Suffer them gladly? Hell, we pay to read their inner thoughts. It’s a tradition. An English heritage. Placing the jester in higher esteem than the king. It begins honourably enough. Dance monkey, dance. Throw him some scraps. Oh, how quaint. Isn’t he simply adorable? Funny little fellow.

Such encouragement. Tell us more of your crazy ways. Enlighten us with your unusual wisdom. Above all, entertain us. Here, take this seat. Are you hungry? Take this microphone. Face that camera. We want more!

Of course, there are always the nay-sayers. A minority of the court whose sense of humour is too primitive to appreciate the art of tomfoolery. Don’t encourage it, they cry, disgusted by the lack of pride on display; the absurdity of events before their eyes.

Fortunately, these puritans are quickly quashed. They are cast from the court and ordered to relinquish their democratic seat. And we the majority continue to applaud the circus… hurling coins at the feet of the jesters, lauding the nerve of the freaks (from a safe distance), building the soapbox for their crazy soliloquies. Look, they’re harmless. They perform for our pleasure. We’re in total control of the situation. And if you have a problem with the monkey, you’ve a problem with me.

Then through keen observation and the connections an Oxbridge education provides, the lords and ladies adopt the hardworking clowns, praising their unique qualities. Paris is a small country in the Chinese hemisphere, you say? How wonderful. How marvellous. How much cash I’m going to make off you.

So we laugh and mock and cheer at the outrageous opinions of the intellectually challenged. All the while keeping the electric fence at full voltage. And humanely culling one-stop reality entertainers behind closed doors. However, even Dr. Frankenstein misjudged the human capacity for resolve, riposte, and retarded delusions of grandeur. And, as so often is the case, the worm turned. Pinocchio became a real boy and assigned Jiminy Cricket as his booking agent. Together they overwhelmed the fences. United they stormed the media networks, seizing control of the airwaves, the written press, television. Even cyberspace. Under fiendish threat of re-igniting the nation’s anima, should anyone wearing starched jeans, an artistically faded retro t-shirt, an M&S blazer and ineffectually thin scarf try to stop them.

Now the public are enslaved. The one time cymbal-crashing simians are speaking their minds… Without consequence, without prudence, without any cognitive thought. They are not vengeful. They seek no retribution for their treatment. In fact, they are appreciative of their adoring public. Believing in the value of their voices. Pelting us mercilessly with prejudicial perspectives, calamitous conclusions and ridiculous regurgitations. Melting our brains and inspiring alcohol abuse across the land… in the knowledge that should we try to retaliate, our contradictions, our worthy retorts, our begging and pleading would be cut off by the flick of a switch. And we are left dejected, insulted and helpless.

But, there is a glimmer of hope. An opportunity to reclaim our culture, our sanity. With the present overcrowding of prisons coupled with the government’s plans to focus on ‘serious’ crimes, now is our chance. Think of it as a mercy killing, for even the French would thank me. A new beginning. I trust I have your support, so, as I snap shut the barrels, the only thing left to say is: Green… Feltz… Ross… Get running.

Dave Early cannot be summed up in one sentence; one word perhaps, but not one sentence.