The Pimps of Progress
The Pimps of Progress
met in conclave aboard the SS Australianus,
a hub-bub-bubbling, troubling
brew of bad haircuts and expensive suits.
Land speculators, Politicians, Off-shore Bankers
and Think Tank Economists, Hedge Fund Brokers,
Mining Magnates and malleable Media Mouthpieces*..
Yes, all the Crooked Crew were there,
and if nothing else,
it had to be conceded that,
considered as “career criminals”,
they were, one and all,
Paragons of Professionalism.
The Prince of Pimps Himselves
ascended to the podium
and addressed the crowd
with a stirring oration;
“JOBS & PROGRESS Must Be
Our Pathway to PROSPERITY!”
“You can’t stop PROGRESS and if you try
we’ll squash you like a bug..
That’s why it’s so imperative
in today’s changing, sorry, I meant,
challenging economic climate
that we have NIMBLENESS & AGILITY..
for example..which thimble
is the pea under now?”
he taunted the crowd whilst
rapidly moving the three thimbles
on the table before him.
One delegate demanded,
the prince stop
hiding the thimbles behind his hands,
but the Prince explained that, as he never allowed
his left hand to know
what his right hand was doing
it was a matter of Trust and thus
the whole process was completely
Transparent and above board.
“The Ship of State is making good speed”,
the Prince maintained. “We can’t allow those
Climate Change Hippies and Greenies
to damage our Economic Integrity” he shouted,
tho he struggled somewhat to be heard above the sound
of splintering timbers and buckling steel
as the Ship of State ground into an Ice Epidemic.
“Nothing a Royal Commission can’t fix!
Be assured my government is prepared
to make the Important Structural Changes required
to assure our Prosperity into the next Century”,
the Prince said in soothing tones,
as he organised the Survivors into sub-committees
to start rearranging deck chairs.
GROWTH is PROGRESS!
WAR is PEACE!
COMPLIANCE is FREEDOM!
These must be our Watchwords!”
cried the inspirational Prince
as he hastily stuffed wads of cash
into a sturdy suitcase with a gaily coloured
“Welcome to the Cayman Islands!”
sticker stuck to its side.
“Believe me my Friends!”, the Pimply Prince
assured his agitated audience,
as he tossed the suitcase over the side
of the ship and started to climb over the guard-rail.
“There has never been a more exciting time
to shift your Assets to an off-shore, tax-free Jurisdiction”.
And with that the Prince of Pimps disappeared from view.
Later, after the good Ship of State Australianus
had disappeared beneath the waves,
all that could be seen on the Ocean’s face was a tiny
rowing boat bearing two tiny figures.
Wheeling in like a sea-bird, we find on closer examination
that one of the figures is no less than the Prince of Pimps
Themselves, perched on the cash stuffed suitcase like a petrel on a rock.
Rowing the boat whilst it puffed on a cigar
was a squat, leering, hunch-backed figure,
who resembled no-one so much
as Quasimodo in an ill-fitting suit.
After awhile it spoke..
“Which island should I row for Marrsster?
The Caymans? Hong Kong?”
The Prince shook himself out of his lordly reverie.
A smile played gently around his noble lips..
“No Joe,” he said kindly, “the only island we’ll be passing
is Ellis Island! Yes Lady Liberty herself, Joe!
Pull for New York Joe! Pull for New York!
In the US They respect an Economic Refugee with a suitcase full of cash!”.
“You can stay at my place if you like Marrssterr”, lisped the Hunchback.
“The Embassy? Why thank you Joe”.
“As former Prime Pimp it’s only what you’re entitled to, Marrsssterr..”.
“That’s true Joe, very true. And while I’m in Washington
I think I’ll visit the White House (Now that it is WHITE again you understand).
I want to see a Man there about a Dog-Whistle”.
*a profession formerly known as journalism
The Reverend Hellfire is a practised Performance Poet,
President of the Kurilpa Institute of Creativity
and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanism
AND the Church of the Universe.
Has trouble opening packaging.