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Goveller’s Travels

Aug 26th

The author’s liberty is obtained.

My petitions for emancipation were opposed by deputy-emperor Boris who was pleased to be my mortal enemy after he heard of my quipping at a COBRA that he should be called Peter Pandemic, because he never shows up.
But upon my tackling a mutant algorithm that got loose in the metropolis from Gavin Williamson’s X-Men bumbag, it was offered on the following terms:

“Dominic Presumptuous Counter Culture Skidmark Cummings, most mighty Emperor of Lilliput, life-coach to the universe, whose
dominions extend five thousand blustrugs (twelve miles); super-forecaster sublime, pissruptor of pissruptors; at whose nod the Tory serfs shake their knees: proposes to the man-mountain Govey aka The Govester, lately arrived at our celestial dominions, the following:
1st, He shall not depart these sunlit uplands without permission.

2d, He shall stop interrupting the deputy-emperor’s IT lessons.

3d, He shall stop ranting about Star Trek, specifically the continuity errors in Deep Space 9, the efficiency savings that could have been made
by axing the holodeck in The Next Generation and the need for exams rather than continuous assessment at Star Fleet. He may continue to venerate the good sense shown in TNG S7:EP26, by Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge when he took the USS Enterprise to Pluto for an eye test.
4th, He shall not repeat the tragedy of last Wednesday when he absently trampled on a village full of my subjects whilst taking a call from his Mrs about the renovations.

5th, He shall stop putting her on speaker phone.

6th, He shall stop whistling the tune from Crossroads.
Lastly, he shall be our ally in Lilliprexit, and aid us in eviscerating the vestiges of good-will we have with our neighbours.

Given at our palace at Belfaborac, the twelfth day of the ninety-first moon of our reign.”

I subscribed to these articles with great cheerfulness
whereupon his majesty took a fancy of diverting himself, desiring I stand like a Colossus, my legs as far asunder as I conveniently could and marched his troops under me with drums beating, colours flying, and pikes advanced with orders, upon pain of death, that every man observe
the strictest decency with regard my person; which did not prevent them, and with my M&S breeches so ill a condition, afforded much laughter, admiration and shouting of ‘Wahey Govey! Is that a mutant algorithm in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see us?’

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