William Bunter struggled to pull the goggles down over his W eyes. Bloody things. Mind you, it wasn't an easy thing to accomplish when stuffed inside a giant cannon. Finally, and breaking the habit of a lifetime by pulling his head in, the far-right leader managed to wiggle the damn things into place.
What had possessed him to agree to this completely mad photo op? Drink was the short answer. He had apparently announced to waiting media at the Rich Bastards Club that he would beat his rival, Jack Bolshie - that appallingly woke leftie - into the PM's office on the ninth floor of the Beehive "even if it means shooting myself out of a giant cannon".
Now, just a week before election day, with his party desperately down in the polls, he agreed with his advisers: time for the giant cannon.
With five minutes until the thing fired him towards the ninth floor, and into political oblivion or glory, he broke another habit of a lifetime and began to pray like he meant it.
"Lord, please forgive me my wild policymaking on the hoof, excuse my verbal gaffes, and pardon my shameless campaign stunts, for I knew not what I was doing." He knew not what he was doing when he forgot to turn off his microphone after a live interview on Radio Right Wing. During what was supposed to be an off-air chat afterwards, the radio host had sneered: "This country has now become a third-world banana republic." "Indeed," Bunter had agreed, "we're a poxy little nation populated by woke idiots and inbreds." What had possessed him? Not a surfeit of good sense, that's for certain.
Now here he was. Inside a giant cannon. Bunter ended his prayer with a heartfelt "amen" just as he heard his press secretary begin the final countdown: "Five, four, three, two..." The last thing Bunter registered was the roar of the crowd. Then, everything went black.
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