Three deities on Mount Olympus, having been instructed by Zeus to lockdown together, decide to hold a symposium. You know the meaning of the word symposium? It is Greek for philosophical discussion with lots of booze. The three are the God Chaos, who surprisingly has a good idea of what he wants; the Goddess Oligarchia, who also suffers from no self-doubt; and the Goddess Demokratia who, I am afraid, sometimes cannot express herself very well.
They ask who is going to be in the chair. “That has to be me”, says Chaos, “Because Out Of Chaos Comes Order and I just love giving orders, first this way and then that way. I learnt this from my mentor.” “Who”, ask the others, “is your mentor?” “Why, didn’t you know, its Dominic Cummings of course”. The other two raise they hands agreeing that there is no argument to be made against that.
Then who shall take the minutes is the next question. “Me of course”, replies Oligarchia. “Who else has the experience gained from centuries of making A look like B so that people vote totally against their own interests while telling themselves quite the opposite?”
“Then what shall I do?” asks Demokratia. “Oh that is easy”, say the others, “you just have to sit there agreeing every time one of us pretends to be you”.
Eventually, after much consumption of rectified spirits, known to mortals as Ouzo, they come to or, rather, impose a decision upon Demokratia.
That decision is that no matter the issue, small or large, wide or narrow, IT WAS ALL THE FAULT OF CORBYN.
Oligarchia records in the minutes that the decision was unanimous.
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