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.
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