Forty Knox

When the Great Bear (made of stars) and the ancient Sphinx (sometime in stone required) arrived at Forty Knox. There, a squad of rifles foretold.

Good morrow, young fresh faced innocent rifles, said she Sphinx, I have come here to liberate the Porridge Bowl. The pillars of capitalism, Exploitation, Built in Obsolescence and an Excess of Sugar and Salt in processed foods, shall be cast down. Private ownership shall be encouraged, but incentive through profit shall be only granted under duress. The Golden Bricks, which you hold so notoriously, shall be fashioned into wonderful jewellery and communication devices.

As I have made mention, the main thrust of our visit, and here she Sphinx included the Bear made of stars at her side, Is to release control of the Porridge Bowl, which has been cornered of late by a shady cartel, in order to hike the prices and generally control supply chains, chain saws and chain link fences. We aim to make the porridge available at cost price in handy packs and self service solutions.

Please stand aside, in your serried and tidy ranks, glinting toe caps in perfect parade, that I may make entrance to the safe rooms within, with my paws of chaos if necessary.

The shiniest rifle stood forward and parley was granted.

We have been tasked, they said, by a powerful conglomerate, whose leader, by the name Longy Locks, to hold safe the world’s supply of Porridge, in great bowls, between the towers of gold bricks for which we are renowned. We are told that the towers and bowls, here in stored, are essential to the functioningment (I don’t think that’s the exact word they used, but hey ho) of our market economy, as each euro dollar dinar real florin peso yen and pound are but notional values associated with the Porridge in our stocks. Were I to allow you to make a takeaway of the Porridge, all hell would let loose on the Street of Wall, where the people who make fortunes trading notional values, have lost confidence in gold, now that it can be collected freely by automated space wagons in the asteroid belt. They, in their wisdom, have decided that Porridge will take its place.

That may or may not, said the Ursula Major, but my family is hungry. One of the tenets of capitalism, Dribble-Down economics, is a scurrilous fiction, supplied repeatedly by, guess who, for richer, not poorer. Therefore, I shall not wait for DD economics to provide for my family, I am here to gather the requisite Porridge myself.

Well, said the rifle at arms, as your family is hungry, I shall of course open the Porridge vaults. Step this way.

They travelled to the underground safe rooms in which tradition lay stacked the bars and bowls.

The Rifle knocked forty times, It’s the secret code, he whispered.

Not anymore, whispered the Bear.

In place now, a veritable pyramid of huge bowls, each containing a jeroboam of porridge in dry form.

Ursulaa Major laid down the new laws and released the necessary. The bowls became distributed at cost price, although there was a deposit and small rental for the bowl, until the goods divided and eaten by those in need.

The markets, devoid of substance, settled on a system of barter. One fish equals a pair of shoes, a bag of peanuts equals half a bottle of milk, a stick for a cloth, a t-shirt, a brace of pheasants, two apples, more eggs, some grated cheese, nutmeg, salt and pepper to taste, served on a bed of frightened baby spinach leaves. We recommend a glass of sweet rose to toss over the left shoulder into the eye of the beholder. What are you looking at anyway, have you never seen at t-shirt salad?

I was concerned about the frightened baby spinach. Oh, no don’t worry, no baby spinach was frightened in this episode.

Anyway, I can’t see anything with this sweet wine in my eyes.

Ursula shouldered a sack of PO (porridge oats) and having thanked she Sphinx and commented on the remarkable condition of her tail, made his way home to the cottage in the woods.

The cottage, primarily constructed of ginger flavoured bread, had been softened in a rain shower and collapsed. Ursa, his partner and their child Ursa Minor ran forwards to meet them.

I have brought home the bacon in the form of porridge, said Ursula Major, after hugs and endearments.

Not porridge again, said Ursa Minor, can’t we have popular tarts, chocolate disguised as cereal or toast with choconutty spread for a change? Something that I can chuck in the micro to make it ping and ping and ping, and then scald myself? Something with enough sugar in to power an inter-continental aircraft?

No, said UM, porridge is the healthy option.

Now the house had fallen in, the Bears moved into the street. Unhappy with the rain falling in their front room, bedroom, kitchen etc. they set forth on a journey to find a new home and some gainful employment.

There were no jobs to be found in the woods. Ursula had relatives who lived far away across the water, with whom she shared a language and cultural ties. Let us go and live near them she said.

But we cannot enter that country, we will become illegal bears.

They reached a border between here and here. A great wall was rising and they might not. The soldier, who knew it not, stood in guardsmen.

The shame was on the other side. A wall stretched, with a stopping motion, mostly across, but with sufficient up.

Are you holding us in, separating us or keeping us out?  Asked Ursula.

Who knows, the guard said, This is but a weapon of control. I am part of the wall, we are all walls in a way.

I’m not, said a voice.

I wish I had paws of Chaos, said Ursula, liken unto the Sphinx.