The Fash: When Mikey meets Paula
Satirical series for subscribers to The West's Awake.
For the previous chapter ( chapter 1) of The Fash click here
Mikey, the Fashest man in the Wesht, was sat waiting behind a grid-iron window in the visitor’s room of Mountjoy prison. He allowed himself to relax his shoulders a bit as he settled into his seat and watched the families of other inmates stroll around the waiting area eagerly anticipating the arrival of their loved ones. Lazily, he began to roll a cigerette. Four years had passed since Mikey first entered Mountjoy in a blaze of Fash glory but after the initial six month flurry of groupie day-trippers, interest in him had all but dried up. The Great Fall helped extinguish his popularity flames and he wryly reflected on his own role in the onset of that great Irish catastrophe. A role he was not at all keen to advertise.
By virtue of the fact Mountjoy was on the north-side of the Liffey it was controlled by the WEFers and Mikey couldn’t help but wonder if the prison chanced to be on the south-side would he be a free man. Fascists and anti-fascists were a celebrated part of the upper echelons of that new state in Dublin 2 and Dublin 4 now and helped keep the natives in line. Only NGO sanctioned fascists and anti-fascists were in vogue in WEF land though and Mikey was well and truly out of favor in the new landscape. Indeed, recently enacted free speech laws in the Sino-Rooskey controlled territories meant anyone could say anything they liked about WEFers but there were, understandably, mandatory life sentences for anyone criticizing the laws of the new regime.
In the distance Mikey could hear a heavy metal door clunk open, and then soon after, the unmistakable brisk clicking of heels on the tiled corridor that led into the visitors room. Soon, the figure of Paula Moofifi, the Irish ambassador to Ireland, appeared in the waiting room and he was wearing a blonde wig, figure hugging white dress and freshly unshaven legs to match the symphony of his stylish stilettos. The Fashest man in the Wesht let out a low wolf-whistle.
“ Any chance of the ride sch-weet-heart…don’t you look only gorgeous for a dirty, filthy, low-down, piece of a communist whore ”
“ Ah very good Michael “ Paula replied calmly accompanied with a slow, mocking hand-clap.
“I suppose you have all the time in the world now to work on a few Fash comedy routines”
“ I do indeed Pauline, now sit down there and I’ll see if I can rustle up a hedge-trimmer for those handsome legs of yours “ Mickey sniggered back.
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