‘ANYTHING YOU CAN DO I CAN DO BETTER’

As was her want, she patted the host of toothy-grinning, expectant young fillies on the bonce. Ruffling their flowing locks, she smiled, for the time had come for a little divine magic. From just one cotton candy stick and two lollipops, a supernatural phenomenon, as she handed out to each and every one of the pretty little things, the whole ten thousand of them, a single candy stick and a lollipop, all the time singing to herself, ‘Anything you can do I can do better, I can do anything better than you’. She had a certain way with young maidens. They adored her. Sweet miracles her forte. Aside from her propensity to furnish the girlys with a regular overdose of sugar and carbohydrates, why would they not adore her? After all, she was The Goddess of the entire known universe. The mother…a word she’s never quite got on with…of all Goddesses and self-proclaimed Gods, perched atop the latter-day pecking order, her lesser sister Goddesses tolerated, but never loved.

Rather than take up residence in the stereotypical misty, ever changing, ever so tedious, monochrome  clouds or freezing one’s tit’s off on dubious Grecian mountain peaks she, at long last, got around to making terra firma upon Planet Earth her home, the Château de Versailles, to be precise. “Where else is a goddess expected to live on this wretched globe? What with Louis XIV’s marvellous bedroom I’ve commandeered and an illustrious lake I can occasionally cartwheel across to impress the mortals, ‘tis the perfect spot for a gal craving Parisian panache, at all costs. A pity there aren’t any flaky lepers in the vicinity to heal from time to time. C’est la vie,” her general take on the subject of her choice of quarters.

Ever since the fatal decline of weary monotheism’s ‘one all-powerful god’ notion, the conscious womanly human beings had seen, indeed previously demanded, the birth of an exclusive feminine polytheism… a matriarch deity by any other name.

Although she could barely countenance her sister Goddesses, and with great reluctance, she sanctioned their permanent stay at the palace. Her reasoning? “I have the power, they can tinker with all the swoony rituals that bore me shitless.” In essence, she ruled with absolute authority. Her name, Allura. Her colouring, as with all the exclusively feminal populace, divine or otherwise, of the Heavenly Body, cinnamon.

How so this new world order…and what of the one male she had left alive, and debatably well…now that testosterone brutishness had become a nothing, national borders an irrelevance, and bloody wars a thing of the past? Only time would tell. However, one thing was clear. I’d heard it said, woe betide the immaculate birth of boy child’s. Save for the chosen few, they would be scrupulously selected with eventual breeding in mind. The rest, they would be ‘done for’ at birth.

~

Let me explain. Once I was a soldier. Only when peace became viral was I no longer fit for purpose. I often think back to that day Goddess Allura, she of flowing autumn leaf locks, contradictory fishnet stockings and an inescapable risqué lime green shirtdress, quite out of the blue and across all worldwide television stations, be they linear or streaming servicers, made herself known. “I imagine you, my new found flunkeys, must be wondering what the fuck is going on? I’m sure you are, hence, I shall tell you, and in truth I’ve let this issue run far too long. My name is Allura, and I am the Goddess, the self-same Goddess who fashioned all that you are, and all that you will be…it’s all down to me with a little help from my sister Goddesses. All previous deities as of this moment are redundant…not, I stress, were they anything other than a well-groomed fantasy in the first place. No more the ‘man upstairs’, make way for the ‘woman downstairs’, a woman not too posh to evade living in the company of all of you, rather than hiding behind an invisible false perception and written words of so called scriptures. Do remember, it suited man to make a God in his image rather than the reverse. Take it as read, I am the real McCoy.” Pausing for a moment to roll and light a cigarette, after a few hearty, deep puffs, followed by a bout of wheezy coughing, she continued, “Why, oh why, when creating humans in my image did I construct males and give them ugly dangly bits, and the scope for sinewy muscles and repulsive alpha-male broad-shoulders…not that, that many of you chaps listening in took up that particular offer…did you, fat boys? Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking of. Still, it’s all sorted now as 99.999% recurring, of you chaps, young, old and in-between will be culled in the blink of an eye, for when I click my fingers you will cease to breath; will be no more…say, as of now! Bye, bye.”

My comrade-in-arms and I were glued to the TV watching the Goddess’ announcement, all seventy of us, crammed into the officers mess. Instantaneously, all that was left was just me. The rest had simply somehow dematerialized. Traumatised, I stayed fixed to the screen. Was it a satirical smirk or a feigned smile upon her otherwise charismatic face? It mattered not, save for a sip of opaque absinthe from a chipped champagne glass through a plastic straw, she was back in full flow, “Right then ladies of Earth, I am here to be worshipped and in return I shall make your wildest dreams come true should you follow me…I should add, if not, misfortune will befall you. You see, I made a grave error of judgment when designing males, all we really needed in the first place was but a few stooge men, a freezer and sufficient sperm. What a silly Billy I was in hindsight. Never mind, world order, the way of things as mankind has understood it for eons, as of the moment is done with. Masculinity has become nought but a lamb to the slaughter. Henceforth and forthwith…I so love saying that…the last male still standing shall have but one major purpose, that being…and I’m sure you ladies have already guessed what that might be!”

Yet another break taken in the heart-to-heart for a swift glug from the damaged glass…the plastic straw aborted…of absinthe, then, “To the one out there left alive…yes you, I know you’re watching this broadcast…I shall, by way of commandment, expect you to give yourself up to my legions of snotty nosed angels who are already, I stress, on your case. What will become of you, you may ask? Some of us will, no doubt, see you as a mere plaything for us gals to abuse, like you chaps once did to us, others might conclude you suitable for breeding, as in siring the next generation of exclusive females. Not I stress, breeding by way of the traditional leg-over mode you may well have taken for granted. Oh no, that would never do. Better you think, lady farmer and her hoofed mammals, as you are now akin to livestock. After all, a tub of sexed semen from just the one bull can spawn any number of fresh new female calf’s. See, I’ve given you a purpose!  ‘Unblessed those with bollocks for they shall inherit sweet fuck all’, I say. Goddess only knows why I left you all in charge. Still, your kind had their opportunity. Since the beginning of time I’ve let your, now deceased, countrymen run the place, yet they treated women as nothing more than mere chattels or sex objects, and have comprehensively failed to succeed or achieve. Warfare, disease, famine, plagues, viruses, rapes, inquisitions, and plunder; selfish, bossy bastards one and all. To the one…yes, I’m still talking to you…about to be belittled, no one salutes you. I trust you understand…well, I don’t give a flying fuck if the truth be told, whether you do or don’t, actually…but you alone must pay for the crimes of your forefathers; their crimes against women. Let you be made an example of; let you suffer as did the women and, I might add, the planet itself. Only then will I declare you surplus to requirements. Gosh, I’ve rabbited on haven’t I, never mind, that’s all I have to say for now…bollocks, my iPhone’s begging for my lugholes…oh, nearly forgot, you can catch up with me on Twitter, although I stress I don’t ‘follow’ back! Bye, bye.”

~

Albeit in the fullness of time, and as forecast, they came for me. Allura’s henchwomen, certified white feather-winged angels on Harley-Davidson’s them all, tooled up to the gunnels and clearly not keen on taking prisoners should I protest.  At the time, I’d been trying to stay out of harm’s way in an old military underground fortification just off the Normandy coast. It seems there was no place for me to hide…

 

Herewith the inevitable ‘Blurb’ for my latest book, a fictional story entitled ‘The Blue-Eyed Cat’;
‘A book of mind boggling time-travel, feverish sex, syrupy romance, ho hum history, a dark future, The Moon, Constantinople, Paris and Berlin, human consciousness, infinity, a tongue in cheek take on all things carnal, art for art’s sake and three thoroughly mad yet oh so delightful gals’
Should it take your fancy it can be found at;
Amazon UK link: THE BLUE-EYED CAT – PAPERBACK
Kindle UK link: KINDLE EDITION
Amazon US link: THE BLUE-EYED CAT – PAPERBACK
Kindle US link: KINDLE EDITION
I am not entirely sure of other Amazon global links and thus I apologize for not revealing them here.