Qayid Aljaysh Juyub

Bolero Bigottero

Shortly before the great pandemic, Abdul Müller threw up profusely in the unisex toilet of his media company. Although he treated himself to a 'snort' from his dwindling and inferior coke stocks before going to work, he suffered enormously from the morning consequences of the residual alcohol. Since Dietmar had left him, the lonely man in his mid-forties drowned his lovelorn and other worries in the dubious depths of the alcoholic ocean every evening with routine regularity.

Professionally, too, the once-celebrated star of the profession-embarrassingly conformist attitude journalism was in a rapid decline. Abdul realized early on which side the bread was buttered in the Federative Republic of Germanistan (FRG). As the son of a migrant worker who, however, preferred to disappear into his homeland before the birth of his offspring - freed from paternal duties and alimony - the little journo prince spent rather hard years under the less than loving care of his single mother, who passed on her displeasure with the producer to her offspring. His school and university years were shaped by a fading everyday racism, which really existed at that time and was not a profit-oriented invention of the pseudo-socialist, media-political complex. Thus, our man learned in time to join in the wolf chant that was fashionable at the time and to skillfully play his cards in the changing climate. A talent for writing, coupled with a certain contempt for mainstream society and a flexible approach to facts, eventually brought him to the editorial board of a renowned magazine that was still left-liberal at the time of his entry. After two decades, however, the profile of 'Starmirror' had changed from liberal to extremist, and Shooting Star Müller had burned out in the inhospitable atmosphere of political correctness, despite his lively use of Nazi and racist maces against all kinds of unpleasant contemporaries. But, moneyed reader, let's continue our story after this little digression; I'll discreetly let in further details about the biography of our fallen journo-god in passing.

Bravely, Abdul had endured the morning briefing and the taunts of his editor-in-chief, Sans Colonne-Vertébrale. However, when his extremely character-flexible boss, smugly grinning, entrusted him at short notice with the task of conducting an interview with Marie A. Kulakskaya, the local great of a government-conformist youth movement, he was overcome by a certain nausea, which he heroically managed to suppress until the end of that memorable session. In better times, Mueller Abdul had already conducted various interviews in a hurry, but these were interviews with really important contemporaries, such as the one with a rhetorically quite untalented head of government, whom chumbling institutes awarded with rhetoric prizes in unsatirical intent for her gibberish. However, the questionnaire had already been approved in advance by the authorities in the context of a suitably sycophantic court reporting. The current target of pseudo-journalistic adulation had a certain significance as an instrument for the implementation of profit-oriented and tax revenue-generating climate protection activities, but Marie A. functioned simply as a second-rate stooge - admittedly without realizing this correctly in her youthful élan. Moreover, Abdul was allowed to play the understudy in the current case, since the originally intended cue-giver, although still fresh from university, vehemently refused to accept such an insignificant assignment.

Thus, after the oral expression of his feelings full of negative vibrations, the understudy returned to his windowless office right next to the site of his successful evacuation. The converted broom closet - affectionately called 'death room' by the worthy colleagues - symbolically corresponded to the occupant's operational status. Normally used by companies of the antisocial market economy to remove older employees through a kind of solitary confinement, the chamber of horror also served in the 'Starmirror' to make disgraced employees fit for unemployment.

Oh, how nice it was before the ultimate fall from grace, when Müller the 'Nazi Hammer' still sat in his chic office on the upper floors of the media house and looked down on the lowly rank and file. How Sans Colonne-Vertébrale, the invertebrate creeper, courted him, in order to increase circulation with his enlightened stories, if not exactly, but to please the elitist greened establishment. The first signs were probably that the horror of all Nazified critics of the mainstream was gradually approaching the old-iron collection. Thus, the hammering headline hunter conducted a minimum of research quite unseasonably, which, however, he did comfortably via the Internet from his luxurious office. Thus he fell behind his colleague and untalented fantasy author Claudius Mendaxius, whose freely invented reports with the literary value of mediocre dime novels - I believe the technical term for this is 'fictional sob story' - were particularly appreciated by the ruling classes. So Mendaxius, who was creative with regard to reality, won many a journo prize for his dramaturgically poor but pleasing performance, while Abdul unexpectedly went away empty-handed. Of course, the old man from 'Starmirrow' didn't like that at all, so he probably made the biggest mistake of his career: a big report about clan crime. Now even the biggest reality denier in public life might suspect that this particular variety of organized crime might have something to do with immigrant extended families. A decade earlier, Müller's work would certainly have won an award, but life punishes those who arrive too late. Although Abdul included an adventurous but popular hypothesis that right-wing extremist forces of a party that began with A and ended with D were presumably up to mischief behind the scenes, the author experienced his personal Waterloo. In a gross underestimation of politically correct puritanism, the former hunter of undesirable opinions realized far too late that the ruling class regarded any connection, however vague, between migration and criminality as taboo. Thus, the former hero of the green-painted establishment was subjected to a tremendous shitstorm that catapulted him from his Olympic ivory tower into the puny dungeon of Hades. It was only thanks to his migration background that our star writer, who was involuntarily named a "right-wing racist," was not released for the unemployable job market. So far - so bad.

Quite reluctantly, the top candidate on the editorial hit list started up his zombie - a museum-ready relic of long-gone computer technology from the last millennium - to obtain the necessary information regarding the unloved interview. The sneering editor-in-chief had recently given him a ticket via the in-house issue manager during the aforementioned meeting. The meeting, which had been arranged with Kulakskaya's marketing firm a good week ago, was to take place in a boardroom of the Hilton, in a good two hours. Abdul cursed softly to himself. Since he had been stripped of his company car and chauffeur and made to sign a change of contract with a considerable reduction in salary, he had been dependent on public transportation. Since the luxurious location of the meeting was at the other end of the city, the journey there posed a certain challenge in terms of the time component and physical integrity. Hastily, Müller checked his mailbox, so that he almost missed an obviously misaddressed e-mail:

 

From: Scrooge, Ogerus

Sent: Tuesday, February 30, 2020 10:58 AM

To:; #staff_disposal; #Advocatus_diaboli; #witchfinder_general; Colonne-Vertébrale, Sans; Connard, Vase; von Kujau, Konrad-Adolf;

Subject: Settlement of Abdul Müller

My dear Sans Colonne-Vertébrale,

there is a change of procedure.

After consultation with Mr. Rofocale of the legal department, I am pleased to inform you that we can comply with your and the unanimous job-preserving wishes of the members of your editorial staff. According to Rofocale, termination without notice is possible without difficulty due to Müller's suspected political views. My concerns about a severance payment proved to be groundless, as the personnel disposal department pointed out to me that Müller was not entitled to one according to the amendment agreement, despite his all too long service with the company. Mr. Connard, our works council chairman, credibly assured me that the works council would not make any fuss, as usual, and that he was also pleased that we would finally remove this 'right-wing dissident'.

So, starting tomorrow, you can personally fire the annoying greaser as you wish and have him removed from our premises by the security service. Unfortunately, the legal department advises against the intended kick in the butt, but handcuffs can certainly be used!

Regards,

Ogerus Scrooge

Staff Writer

 

The first thought of the shocked subject of such managerial welfare measures was to pay a surprise visit to his editor-in-chief and give him a free stay in a hospital of his choice. However, the delinquent realized relatively quickly the futility of such an action, with which he did more harm to himself than to his progressive employer in terms of personnel disposal. Abdul thought bitterly of the many years he had spent in the editorial department of the "Starmirror" and, as a faithful turncoat, had gone along with every ideological change of course. The once renowned magazine liked to call itself the "assault gun of democracy," and as far as flattening any opponents of the greenified establishment was concerned, this statement was undoubtedly true. Despite knowing better, Müller did his part in silencing critical voices and even in collegially trashing staff members who took their profession as journalists all too seriously.

Our man had long since recognized how the rabbit ran. In principle, only one essential antagonism defined this world, namely that between the few who owned everything and those many who were allowed to call nothing or almost nothing their own. The real essence of left-wing politics was to balance out this injustice. As should be relatively easy for the interested reader to understand, the contrast between rich and poor is in no way based on gender or skin color. To conceal the real problem is therefore the noblest goal of the truly powerful and their knowing/unknowing puppets. This can best be achieved by trying to form as many social groups as possible and then playing them off against each other. In this context one may take some crude ideas regarding alleged anti-racism (positive discrimination ...etc...) under the magnifying glass and already some even moronic theories make quite sense. Of course, it is also great for the ruling class to find a kind of substitute religion for the (un)believing West, which motivates people to joyful renunciation and a life in poverty 'to save the world' under a little needy elite, because under normal conditions one's own exploitation does not meet with such great acceptance by many people. If one harnesses for this purpose still 'the science' or pretends that '97% of all scientists' support the own world view, then the by no means new world order is secured. The icing on the cake is, of course, if you play the pseudo-left or 'green' card, because with that you neutralize your most dangerous opponent and can diligently globalize in his name and flatten some eco-systems for the 'big picture'. Well, friends, as we know, it is not the coolest trick of the devil to make the world believe that he does not exist, but that he is the merciful God who hunts witches and unbelievers. I'm afraid I've bored enough with my dubious wisdom now! Let's turn back to our story.

Understandably, it was only after a few minutes, during which the staff member to be disposed of vacillated between anger and despair, that Abdul realized that they had obviously forgotten to take him off the 'witchfinder_general' mailing list. He quickly checked his other access points and found that they had not yet been revoked. A wicked smile played around the corners of the journalistic discontinued model's mouth. Perhaps he could return the favor after all, before he was thrown on the garbage heap of opportunistic futility.

*

Abdul entered the sumptuous meeting room - named 'Louis Seize' after its stylishly cluttered furnishings - five minutes before the interview was to begin.

His trip on the run-down, public transportation was relatively uneventful. Only on the subway did a few drunken shrunken Teutons rabble-rouse against 'Canaks' and 'gays', while on the streetcar a group of obvious immigrants chastised a local passenger for disrespect by slapping him in the face - the old man had probably harassed the youths by looking at them. Arriving at the Hilton, the receptionist regarded him with a snide look in view of his cheap outfit, but showed him the way with cool politeness.

There were only two other people in the room, which was heated by an elaborate oil-fired central heating system. Immediately, the disgraced Journo-Prince recognized Marie A. Kulakskaya - an attractive lady in her early twenties of the 'higher daughter' type - and a rather nondescript gentleman in an elaborate tailor-made suit, whose name he could not remember but who, to his knowledge, was the press officer of her professional marketing team. While the Kulakskaya eyed Abdul with an amused look, the official mouthpiece wetly took the floor.

"Well, well, the gentleman from 'Starmirror'. The receptionist has already announced your coming. Please sit down on this folding chair, which we brought along especially to save the stylish furniture from your cheap textiles. Good! I am Joe Boegbels, press spokesman and 'majordomus' of our supreme activist. Marie should be known even to you, and we can save ourselves further mumbo-jumbo in this regard. You did bring the list of questions we prepared, didn't you?"

The gentleman from the private-sector Ministry of Propaganda looked at Müller on his uncomfortable folding chair with questioning contempt.

"Dear Mr. Boegbels, I have saved all this on my smartphone. If I could use that with your permission?"

Grinning derisively, Propagandist Joe nodded curtly, while Marie A. abruptly burst out laughing as the antiquated model of Müller's smartphone caught her eye.

"Mrs. Kulakskaya, you don't mind if I use my smartphone, do you?"

"Yes, yes, because of me. You should really get a more fashionable model!"

In contrast to the professionally smarmy smile Abdul put on, he grinned grimly to himself; his plans were beginning to take shape.

"Thank you for your activist tolerance, dear lady."

"I see you are a conformist hack with attitude, Mr. ...? Well, her name doesn't matter and actually interests me little. Your paper is a beacon of desirable attitude journalism anyway, and I guess it doesn't matter what your name is. So, you raving reporter, say your piece!"

With a dismissive gesture toward the unappreciated court reporter, Boegbels asked him to begin the interview. The cunning Müller in turn put on an apologetic smile, whose vixenish background, however, the activist goddess and her propaganda boss did not grasp.

"The gentlemen may forgive me, but before we start, we have to have a little preliminary talk. This is necessary to create the necessary atmosphere."

Reluctantly, the self-assured spokesman shook his head.

"What is this nonsense? Time is money and our Marie already has the answers in print in front of her. So cut the nonsense and get on with it!"

"Dear Mr. Boegbels, this will really only take a few minutes, and we're just chatting about trivialities such as fashion ...etc..."

"What do you think of? No, ..."

"But Joe, let him. A little chit-chat before the boring interview can't hurt."

Awkwardly touched, the abruptly interrupted Press Joe looked at the mischievously grinning Kulakskaya.

"But Marie, we still have important appointments today with all sorts of representatives from politics and business!"

"Don't forget Joe that you are daddy's employee! I would like to make small talk with the guy from 'Starmirror' now, basta!"

Boegbels was already familiar with these occasional bouts of late adolescent resistance and knew that resistance was futile here.

"Whatever you mean Marie. You don't mind if I leave the room for fifteen minutes to reschedule the other appointments, do you?"

Besides, the Hilton had an excellent bar, where Boegbels intended to consume two or three hard drinks in a hurry for the purpose of carbon-neutral stress management.

"Knock yourself out! So tell me, reporter boy, do you actually earn so little at 'Starmirror' that you can't possibly walk around in cheap ready-to-wear like that and can't even afford a decent smartphone?"

Meanwhile, Abdul felt some relief as Boegbels sped off in record time. It greatly simplified his plans that Kulakskaya's propaganda acolyte had left the room.

"May I call you Marie?"

The little activist queen nodded majestically and the dance with the true journalist born of desperation began.

"So Marie, of course you're right. But let's talk about you instead! One does not notice actually at all that you are so fashion-conscious. At least at the Friday demonstrations, you don't exactly look styled up."

"But ...? What's your name now, anyway?"

"Abdul!"

"Sounds foreign somehow. So Abdul, that's part of my image. Of course, I don't walk around like any other bourgeois in clothes from the discount store during the demonstrations, but I do dress a little more discreetly. At least, that's what the guys from the marketing company Dad hired for me recommended."

"Your father seems to be quite wealthy. Isn't he also involved in the fight against climate change through various holdings in wind power operators?"

"Sure, Dad has already invested a lot in renewable energy to save the world and fill his bank account. Dad already started fighting against the changeable climate investing when the renewable energy law came out and you could make a bunch of money with it."

"Now your own incorrigible climate deniers actually claim that wind turbines have an extremely harmful impact on local flora and fauna."

"Flora and fauna?"

"Specifically birds, bats and insects, which are either shredded or otherwise killed in considerable numbers. In addition, vast areas of forest are soon to be cleared in order to set up more wind farms. However, there are wicked tongues that point out that you can't even build that many wind turbines to cap the energy demand created by shutting down conventional power plants. Some even claim that nature is being let off the hook here in order to make a hefty profit on pretextual climate protection grounds."

"What an absurd claim! Everyone knows that Germanistan is to be plastered completely selflessly with wind turbines, in order to save mankind from heat death. These callous deniers with their rationalistic agitation have not heard our bang yet. Besides, when it comes to the profit-oriented saving of the world, collateral damage such as the extinction of endangered species cannot be avoided. Many a bird would fly joyfully into the propellers of a wind turbine if only it knew that global temperatures would not rise another degree, and that we would thereby win the final victory over the climate!"

"Now there are indeed contemporaries who, while not denying climate change, consider the correlation with CO2 levels in the atmosphere to be exaggerated, since carbon dioxide is a trace gas with a total share of 4% in the earth's atmosphere. Also 4% of it is man-made, so to speak. A few volcanic eruptions in a row should probably have a greater effect on the CO2 budget than human efforts."

"The accuracy of our statements have long since been proven by a consensus of 99.9% of all scientists in need of funding. It doesn't matter in this science-pimped dogma whether our models have been proven inaccurate and ultimately flawed in the past! What is the point of these funny questions, anyway?"

"My dear Marie A., I would like to inform you nevertheless only about what these heretical deniers spread so everything. You will agree that these enemies of humanity should not be allowed to get away with their agitation and that the state should criminalize these guys."

"Absolutely! I would even go so far as to put these incorrigible troublemakers in a camp where they would then be allowed to reflect on their climate sins. But that might be too humane. Finally the promote the ecocide and are then by the climatic disaster at the death of innumerable ones to blame. I'm against the death penalty, but an exception should be made for denialist thought criminals."

"To recap: You advocate that agitators with undesirable opinions be interned in concentration camps or executed outright?"

"Considering how irresponsibly obstructive these climate pests are, the answer of every climate fighter of the light can only be: Yes!"

"Well, your indignation can perhaps be understood. There are said to be incorrigible critics who claim that you and most of the youthful followers of the 'Green Wave' are the affluent neglected children of the bourgeoisie who have little understanding for ordinary and low-income earners who simply cannot afford a climate-neutral or sustainable life."

"You mean those anti-social types who use plastic bags or eat cheap meat? My God, do you have to eat meat every day? Personally, I only eat eco-steaks that cost at least 250 Dollares per 250 grams in the deli and are produced in a completely climate-neutral way, as it says on the package. One can be only obdurate and bad, if one does not use such offers. Then the ignorant rabble does evenly once for four weeks without animal products, dresses exceptionally properly with mark clothes and buys then clean bio meat of the noble oil store!"

"An extremely socially balanced suggestion! However Marie, aren't you supposed to be vegan?"

"Well, officially I am, but meat substitutes do taste really bland sometimes."

"Okay. Let's get to the really bad conspiracy theorists, who actually harbor the criminal thought that your movement is running entirely in the sense of the really big money and is also orchestrated accordingly by the media. Obviously in this sense also many climatic deniers ask themselves whether the CO2 pricing does not serve only to fill the always empty national coffers."

"This is quite big nonsense, because can't be what, according to system-relevant media, must not be. In the end, we convinced the government under Chancellor Weathervane with our highly intelligent slogans because they realized that they were 'stealing the future' from us. Since the new energy tax will really make everything more expensive, the proles with salaries will have to tighten their belts and consume fewer resources. It must fly not each stupid prol into the cheap vacation. The Prims are nevertheless better finally better at the local quarry pond! At the last climate party in New York we even talked about this kind of climate sinners. But I had to leave early to catch my flight to Frankfurt, because the next morning the first class was completely booked out.”

"Well, Marie, if we're already talking about the general increase in the cost of living due to the CO2 tax, then the question naturally arises as to what, for example, those should do who can then no longer pay their heating or electricity costs because, for example, food is artificially made more expensive?"

"My goodness, then you just do some squats or put on three sweaters on top of each other. Then the computer just stays off and the underdog family plays a round of Monopoly. Besides, the single mom can take on a third job to heat the place for the spoiled brats!"

"The born social politician! Of course, the question also arises as to how the freely chosen asceticism of the Western world will affect developing and emerging countries? Possibly they will then run out of bread."

"Then they should eat cake! What's this all about, anyway, and why do you keep holding your cheap smartphone in my direction?"

"My dear Marie A., don't lose your head. We are yes have it soon ..."

Before Abdul could finish his sentence, a slightly buzzed Boegbels entered the room and the dance ended abruptly.

"Well you frantic little reporter, are you finished with your preparations?"

"Just a moment, I still have to call up the questionnaire on my smartphone. Okay, we're ready to start the interview!"

"It's about time, I'm thoroughly sick of small talk!"

Kulakskaya ungraciously looked at the annoying questioner, who in turn smiled slyly mischievously, having just posted the previously recorded video online on the 'Starmirror' site. Meanwhile, the Minister of Propaganda noisily placed himself and looked impatiently at the inexplicably grinning Müller.

"So, you posture specialist, is this going to be anything today?"

"Well, here we have the first question: Marie, according to current reports on state radio, you are said to be thinking of forming a new block party and running for the National Assembly. Can we look forward to that?"

"For god sake, which answer should I take now? There are so many on the printout."

As is so often the case after not memorizing answers from his breadwinner, Propaganda Joe twisted his piggy eyes.

"Marie, take the one with an A on it!"

Stumbling, Marie A. read aloud the prepared text.

*
 

Since I would like to spare the gentle reader the following saliva lickings and am also too lazy to lose myself in trivialities, we will make it short and painful now.

Abdul actually carried out the interview so that his politically incorrect, but journalistically impeccable, action would not be exposed too early. So the editors of 'Starmirror' also got wind of the general ridicule and the shitstorm of the few fanatics on the net relatively late. Of course, the article was then immediately deleted and a hail of groveling apologies poured in. Abdul's journalistic career ended for all eternity, of course, but Sans Colonne-Vertébrale was also let go as a pawn. As for Marie A., the system media naturally stylized her into a kind of martyr who was the victim of a 'right-wing conspiracy'. Otherwise, the Parliament of Germanistans looks forward to welcoming Marie A. soon.

© 2020 H.K.H Jeub

Sample from ‚Wicked Weird World beyond reality timelines’

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Qayid Aljaysh Juyub.
Published on e-Stories.org on 06.01.2022.

 

Līautore

 

Comments of our readers (0)


Your opinion:

Our authors and e-Stories.org would like to hear your opinion! But you should comment the Poem/Story and not insult our authors personally!

Please choose

Previous title Previous title

Does this Poem/Story violate the law or the e-Stories.org submission rules?
Please let us know!

Author: Changes could be made in our members-area!

More from category"Satira" (Short Stories)

Other works from Qayid Aljaysh Juyub

Did you like it?
Please have a look at:

Une histoire pour la nuit : le jardinier - Qayid Aljaysh Juyub (Satira)
A Long, Dry Season - William Vaudrain (Vita)