PetonimelNOW THERE was a certain man by the name of Bruce of the clan Golding, a baker who hailed from verdant elevations in the centre of the land. The same Bruce was deputy essential to the Chief Deliverer. Yea, he was a prominent Labourite, sitting pretty in the hierarchy and biding his time, for he was destined to rule all of Jamdown, if the Comrades would only get with the programme and capitulate at the polls, and if the Chief Deliverer would wane in vigour.
He mastered the art of measuring the pulse of public fervour, and he tempered his rhetoric accordingly. And in those days Jamdowners everywhere were disenchanted by things political, for there was much amiss in that arena, but neither the Comrades nor the Labourites were minded to set things right in the national interest. Hence Bruce pondered his political portion, and he slept on it.
And Bruce fell under the influence of a mojo, a spell, and his essence arose from him and ventured into the public domain in his stead. And Bruce's Mojo spoke to the people thus: "Fellow Jamdowners, I have contemplated thy blahs and will endeavour to establish unto thee a new and different political order. I will bestow upon thee an alternative for which to cast thy ballots, and I Bruce will no longer be steward to garrison politics nor its attendant depravity, and affiliation to persons of impeachable character".
And having heralded thus, Bruce's Mojo departed the ranks of Labour and convened unto Jamdowners the Democrats.
RESHAPING POLITICS
And Bruce awoke from his slumber, champion of a movement capable of reshaping the political face of governance in Jamdown. And astride a wave of public acclamation, Bruce went to the polls with the Democrats ... and was blasted to smithereens by Percival James and the Comrades.
Dearly Beloved, Bruce by his own admission is an impatient man and he had no time to rebuild democracy from the ashes. But between Bruce and his mojo Jamdowners were perpetually bewildered, for his mojo says he'd go hither, but Bruce goes thither. And he threw in his lot with the Labourites on the eve of the national vote. Yea, Bruce left the Democrats hanging out on a limb without a stalwart. And he and the Chief Deliverer were in one accord, in high spirits at Half-Way Tree, because the multitude was of unprecedented measure; and they were in a celebratory mood on national TV.
DEVASTATED
But the Fresh Prince and the Comrades prevailed over them and the Chief Deliverer was devastated because that was his last hoorah. Thus he threw in the towel because he was ring weary, catapulting Bruce to top man at Labour; a decade after his mojo broke ranks. Dearly beloved, Bruce came full circle to his place of disenchantment, with an e'en bigger garrison in tow. But his mojo would depart from him not.
Now a debate raged in the House of Gordon where the 'ticians designed unto themselves a standard for good behaviour unto the people. And the Fresh Prince and Bruce's Mojo were resplendent in a photo opportunity as they affix their respective John Hancock to the understanding. But the following day Bruce arose and perused the document, and he saw that the resolution had no bite, and Bruce kicked up a fuss because once again his mojo had bound him to matters to which he was not committed.
Hear oh Jamdown, and do thou this: Convene ye a National Prayer Breakfast, and summon Herro, to lay hands upon Bruce. But appeal ye unto the beloved clergy that he shouldst leave the nine, its magazine, and the silencer behind. Lest he mistakenly perform an execution, and not an exorcism, suffering the Baker unto an untimely demise, which he deserve not. For if thou doth not do this thing, Bruce's Mojo will continue to obfuscate with silly shenanigans, condemning thee to eternal bangarang. Selah.
