Once, so very long ago, or perhaps it was just yesterday, twixt my times with one immaculate cleavage blessed angel and her inevitable lookalike, I had a part time lover of words. Sadly, I cannot remember her name from Adam.  All I can remember are two things she told me as we lay between satin sheets and a comfortable mattress under a harvest moon. Firstly, that “Black shirted extremists and freshly squeezed orange juice, the latter, manna from heaven, the former, the nastiest thing of all, will one day win out.” Additionally, over finest rock pool chilled Chablis and freshest oysters somewhere in Brittany, that, “Patriotism is the greatest pleasure to patriots, yet the single most dangerous thing with regards to the future of humanity.” Why I recall her words with such clarity is quite beyond me. Maybe they feel pertinent? I digress, for I have a prediction to impart!

“One version of the coming of the Sunshine Superman says that he dropped out of the wide blue yonder, landed safely in a pot of gold at rainbow’s end, passed toxic wind, burped a pickled onion burp, dusted himself down before determining to rule the world, the universe and beyond, using the special powers bestowed upon him born of his superhero status.

Another was that perhaps it might have been from the highest skyscraper known to humankind he accidentally fell, surviving only because of the handy, ever-present silk fashioned parachute he always had about his person in case of such an event. Regardless, the terra firma peasants, superglued to their positions in latter-day society, were always at odds with one another as to the actual methodology of his unannounced arrival. Some cared, others could not give a toss. The ones who cared were, not that they realized it at first, about to be in the ascendancy.

You see, for far too long those self-same peasants of either persuasion, through hindsight’s bitter eyes, had unwittingly allowed themselves to be the serfs of a bloated, calculating political elite.  Having never been advised to scoff cake in favour of long forgotten stale bread, revolution, in the traditional manner the like of which brought sad ending to the ‘scabrous with inflammation’ red and white lead powdered faced French aristocracy, an alien thing.

Also, too long their caring, ‘pat on the head, it’ll all be alright’ warm God of the new calendar had listened to their pleading prayers, smiled a knowing smile and made copious quill upon parchment notes in finest calligraphy, prior to taking a snifter of vintage port before settling in for the night. Little else. As of this ‘now’ thing, they both wanted and needed the angry, spitting feathers, God of ‘action over deed’ from days of supposed creation. 

Enough was enough. The citadel of bosses, in the eyes of an ever growing, strangely portly but still so, so hungry underclass, needed storming something rotten. The metaphorical knitting needles were out. Madame La Guillotine, revived as ‘a cross on a ballot paper’, would be scrubbed up clean. No bloodstains.  

Enter the Sunshine Superman! Every revolution needs an El Presidente and although it must be noted that he was undoubtedly a little blubbery about his personage, one of his special powers, deigned of birth right, afforded him a cloak of rippling muscle and six pack the like of which no peasant could see beyond.

The gentry never saw what was staring them in the face, stuck in their sticky quagmire of monetary contentment as they were. For it was with consummate ease that the Sunshine Superman promised the hoi polio all manner of pleasing unpleasant things, told them what they wanted to hear in the colloquial language they understood and rallied to. Sunshine Superman did indeed fulfil his dream and the tied peasants were now happy ‘soon to be free from the shackles’ peasants.

Of course, as is the way of things, it would one day all go to worms. One day, a small ‘I cannot tell a lie’ child, not even the brightest kid on the block, yet with eyes that could see, perched himself on the branch of a cherry tree, above the adoring masses to get a better view, as Sunshine Superman made his grandest appearance. The child would note and make known, blubber on naked skeleton, would even observe and share, that promises unfulfilled are not promises in part or at all. On that day, Sunshine Superhero discovered the raw power of the primal rage of the angriest of mobs!  

Being Sunshine Superman wasn’t all it was cut out to be when that angry mob of those who had come to love him plus those who always saw right through him had the raving hump.

Copyright © 1546AD Nostradamus.  All rights reserved

38 thoughts on “SUNSHINE SUPERMAN

  1. in their contest, the difference proved to be that the hoi polloi believed more in the promises of Superman than those of Superwoman – in him, they invested some hopeful albeit hesitant trust – in her, they had ample proof of untrustworthiness – as for me, I went libertarian – now we will wait and see – the first 100 days should be quite revealing

    1. All across the western world Jo Public seeks a better way. The problem with Joe Public in these circumstances, is I think, that they latch onto those who will tell lies for their own ends and not see them for what they are. I would stress it is not just Trump who has great skills in that regard. Farage, Le Pen…elections due in a number of EU nations next year…where far right are in the ascendency. Worries me a lot Paul, for the sake of my offspring and grandchildren, just when will the people of nations learn from the lessons of history. Despite being an old leftie the next truly honest man or woman who arrives on the scene gets my vote!

      1. True enough, Paul. He may not be far right yet the far right in Europe are looking up to him; using him as an example of people power (which he undeniably is) for their own ends. That is the bit I worry about.

    1. Three times! That sounds like me looking quizzically at the two loo doors in a French café where they have gone for colloquial French to advise which one is the ladies and which one is the gents! Mind you when in the loo’s at Cite Europe a couple of months back an old lady in uniform was in there cleaning the gents…don’t feel comfortable in those situations yet the French see it as par for the course! You didn’t need to know that thinking about it! No doubt I shall suffer again tomorrow as Zoolon Audio (who wants interesting works of art photo’s for his 3D cover art for samples and hates driving abroad) insists it can only be found in Le Touquet. At least I can stock my wine for Christmas and charge the cost of the trip to his business as it is genuine ‘business’.

      1. Lol… a forced trip abroad. Mike, how awful for you. My heart doth bleed. But I am sure you will find even more inspiration for yourself…oh and yir boy x

      2. I do hope so. As it happens I adore Le Touquet. ‘Paris by the sea’ they call it. Weird buildings built by the English, oddly enough. Looks like the game called The Simms my daughter used to play. More millionaires than you could shake a stick at…I once saw a tramp sat in the street drinking champagne there…wanted to take a snap but Shirl told me that that would be out of order!

      3. It would have been a brill pic. Ah..the Sims. Yes, my girls used to play that too and once on of them accidently killed the mum belonging to the other……World War 3 was nearly declared.

      4. Kids and computer games, the innocence of tribalism at the only time one could say such a thing is at it’s best. Absolutely knackered, 3 hours sleep (the curse of insomnia), fair old distances driven across nicest bits of my beloved France I shall take rest this night in the knowledge we had a bloody fine day…warm to the point, inspiring sea mist…I was over-dressed yet cafes and people watching heaven.

    1. Sorry to take all day to revert. You see after the Brexit lunacy and now the Trump beast, I have resorted to tablets…St John’s Wort if the truth be told (they usually work provided the black dog is already feasted sufficiently of me). What a world we live in. Marine Le Pen may take France out of the EU next year if she gains the Presidency; Austria could fall, as could Germany and Italy. Summer of 2017 will shape the world and mankind…when Western Europe is at war the world is at war. I wouldn’t care about the lessons of history being forgotten by the common ‘man’ were it not that I have offspring and offspring’s offspring. This is like living in the 1930’s – believe me I’ve was there! Still, Le Touquet in France beckons in the morn. A beautiful coastal town full of very rich French and tramps who drink champagne sat at the roadside (true). Lord Zoolon insists he wants photographs of art (they have a lot of art there, some sublime) from said venue for his website and he hates to drive on the wrong side of the road so he is paying for the trip (tax deductible). I can see Shirl lodged in a restaurant while I/we brave the cold, holding a bag full of cameras. Whether it improves my mood only the new day will tell.

      1. (snorts) Lord Zoolon! Oh, you two.
        But yes, there is so much tension now, the kind where a small scuffle could ripple and echo and ripple and echo and all will be magnified into a riot. Milwaukee is always at a slow boil; it’s only a matter of time. But that’s the only real urban center in Wisconsin. Madison, the capital, likes to think itself urban, but nah. 🙂 That, and it’s actually pretty snotty over there–everyone there wanted Bernie Sanders, so there’s a serious wave of “We warned you” whispers flittering about…

      2. If only Bernie was English…we’d take him in an instance. The great man is the only honest socialist left on earth, that’s how strong I feel about the guy…’a proper bloke’. In these parts, what with the UK being a multicultural nation in denial racist attacks are up to an intolerable level. I despair, yet on Le Touquet’s finest sands with waves crashing in earlier this day, Lord Zoolon, Princess Shirley (that’s what she makes the grandkids and other small humans call her) and I were in paradise.

      3. Brilliant day in France. This morning however I thought I’d synch my IPod Classic thing to ITunes so as to ensure the new Cohen album was on it. I thought the ITunes home page looked a little odd, but then I had recently run an update and such things confuse me anyway. ITunes lives in an external hard drive. The drive had died I was later to discover. Where once was 11,731 +/-20 pieces of music there now was nothing. Hell’s bells!

      4. F***ing hell! Can Apple do anything in recovering your stuff?

        That is precisely why my husband refuses to get into Netflix or iTunes or any such cloud system. This also means our basement walls are lined floor to ceiling with movies, books, and albums.

      5. I had 200 or so songs purchased from ITunes that are recoverable but the rest were from my massive (still in boxes from when we moved here) CD collection. So, I went out and purchased a USB reader and will have to load them all again! I have been using swear words I thought I’d forgotten. Even Lord Zoolon, otherwise known as Marquis du Zoolon when in France, who understands these things is baffled. The external hard drive has ITunes still, yet not as we know it. Luckily the book I’m writing is stored on a Cloud, so I’m hoping there won’t be a tropical storm anywhere near my Cloud now! He’s getting pissed off with me calling him Lord Zoolon and has banned CEO of Zoolond Audio completely! I was only trying to help.

    1. Cheers. It really sounds like I’m looking down on people, but I’m not like that at all. It’s just when I see people in the UK and pretty much everywhere moaning – often with massive good reason – about their wretched lot in life they are always (generally) on the large, looking well-fed side of the fence!

  2. Brilliant piece. I always hope for the better. Both right and left extremists are a pain in the bottom. I wish that this left/right party business ( that is all about money) will get old and die, and a common sense party will be set up instead on the best practices and philosophies of the mankind.

      1. Exactly. America is divided as never before. I wish people realise that it is not what they actually want. Next year Russia will celebrate 100 years since their revolution- a good reminder of what can happen in a country if it is terribly unbalanced.

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