MERDE: IS THIS THE FUTURE?

The world grows so weary of piss-poor governance, nobody bothers shooting or even satirising their politicians anymore. Deeply humiliated, World leaders beg me, Professor Brion Damage, to scour the universe for revolutionary new ways of fooling the masses into thinking that politics can be fun, and take part. Astral Travel, triggered by deep meditation and the keyword OM, beams me through space and time to fill this tall order.

OM. My eyes open on some nice ladies, knitting on their balcony. "Excuse me ladies, is this the future?"

"But of course, Monsieur," says one. "It is beginning now with Doubledoo the banker. Never lent me a Sou and now it's his turn to feel the pinch!" (There is a crash and a roar from the crowd below.) "Next comes Dr Leach," she croaks. "Charged me three chickens for treating head lice, something he needn't worry about again!" (Another crash, another roar: it is a guillotine!)

"Wait a minute," I interject. "Are you sure this is the future?"

"It is for France, Monsieur," she cackles. "But not for our final contestant Baron Dickswagger, enemy of the Republic and many a poor peasant girl." (Two crashes then hideous sawing noises.) "I just hope they're cutting the right bit off!" She turns to me. "And now, Monsieur, what can we do for you? I hope you won't be a pain in the neck!"

"I am a fact finding emissary from far away," I alliterate. "Take me to your leaders."

"Ah, bourgeois, revisionist and male chauvinist. We are the leaders. Seize him ladies, another one for the chop!"

OM. Just in time I beam back to our cosily careless here and now to report: forget inclusivity; we don't want clowns running the circus, when monkeys already rule the zoo.