A Miner Episode

by Frankie Lassut⁽⁵⁾
Franco

Louis Ozure and his men are out! President Pinyera is smiling brightly for the cameras, moreso when one of the miners gave him a rock from...‘down there’ in that dark pit in San Jose, Chile. I bet the billionaire was thinking (These bums have cost me a fortune, but the lucrativity from this will more than make up...smillllleeeeeeee! G8 Summit next year! Lobster and women! Screw de plannet. Don’t even have to do de bliddy messy genocide for airtime! Dis rock is gonna ruin my bliddy suit pockit!)

I remember years ago watching a film, an X film, called ‘Survive’. It was about a plane which crashed in the snowy mountains somewhere in America, and to survive, the people had to eat each other. The first mouthful was a bit gory, but it must have been difficult because have you ever tried to bite a piece of belly-pork from the deep freeze. I tried it. I thought, if I were to eat someone in a frozen place, this is what it would be like... it only works not quite frozen, like the meat would be 30 mines or so after a powercut killed the fridge.

That didn’t happen of course, and they supposedly survived for 17 days, on half a bottleful of tuna each daily. There again, in the dark, how would they decide who to eat?

Foreman: “Ok lads, were going to draw lots to decide who to eat.”

Georgio: “Who to eat?..... How we gonna kill Mario?”

Mario: “Hang on minute! Why me?! Paulo is fatter than me!”

Paulo: “Hang on hang on! I may be fatter than you, but I’ve lost weight over the last few days. But anyway. No one likes you Mario! So no one would miss you!

Mario: “You wassse ta da space sonna da beetch! Come here I keeellll youuuu you bladda pumpkeen!”

Apparently, they never found each other in the dark, but they did run into a few other miners, who got bruised and nutted and kneed in the nuts so much, they decided that it was much easier to just eat tuna than each other; although Paulo and Mario never sat together: well. They don’t think so anyway.

Later, after much praying and discovering God (I thought they already had him, being a suppressed community) actually cared for them, they heard a crunching noise. They then fought for who was to leave last and secure the Guinness book of Records entry.

But, they are now all out. Their wives grin and kiss them, and say goodbye to the wonderful seventeen day affairs they have just enjoyed with their best friends (Hopefully the new children will look like their surrogate dads), and then baulk at the rotting tuna breath of their hardworking (Boring, Zzzzzzzz) hubbies (Sometimes security sucks).

They are left to happily celebrate in their town for a day or two, and on an extra miserable return to work (It wasn’t even raining), the bosses, when all the cameras are gone, tell them that they are not entitled to overtime as none of them actually clocked off when they reached the surface, and production was no existent during active overtime: actually, it was one long ‘break’. SO much for bloody GOD! (Who doesn’t mind being found in the deep dark depths during mining disasters Fun as they all ‘beg’, but finds canteen Union meetings a bit, erm... angry?)

Ho ho!

I didn’t write this, it’s just so cynical.

Lol ........... they actually,, probably owe their "boss" a couple of months

of salary, he after all fed and watered them, free board and lodging, nice

little mini break, what a kind, considerate boss they have.

***

THE PSYCHIC NEWS

Two weeks after the ordeal, President Pinyeara, advised by his advisers, who were in turn advised by their advisers, who in turn were advised by their advisers, who in turn were advised by their lawyers...

decided to go down the mine to see what all the fuss was about.

The rescue borehole was widened in order to fit a luxury lift, which would of course be destroyed after the president, sorry President (Capital p...sorry, P) had visited the hellhole, which had been checked for bloodstains, just in case Pedro had bitten Mario in the dark... he hadn’t. The place was checked by sniffer dogs just to check that this wasn’t a dastardly plan by the miners to blow up their pPresident using a plastic coke bottle (They are everywhere) filled with putrid tuna gas (They didn’t have a fuse, so God only knew how they would ever go off and cause middle class, world leader ‘’’’he wishes’’’ carnage???).

However, the place was fount to be boring, except for the bit that wasn’t mentioned on the news... the toilet pile. Tuna essence poo. There was only one toilet pile, but due to the disorientation caused by the darkness, it was in several parts, all joined by dark brown meandering footprintssome of which ended at solid brick walls, and then wandered off aimlessly. Someone has actually written on the wall, Pedro stinks the Goddam Pumpkin! And on the opposite wall, Mario is nothing but a BITCH! (Was homosexuality breaking out?!).

However, the President attended, but only after his aides had made sure that the ‘cave’ had been fully furnished, and a bar put in, with poles for the exotic dancers. The president’s wife was away on business, with a few of the more muscular aides (Women are muscular over there, it’s the cabbage they eat, and the rocks they are forced to carry in the genocide camp quarries).

I’d better not go on too much as this truth may end up in some newspaper that thrives on such truth.

The President(p) left, wondering what all the fuss had been about, as the carpets down there were plush, the barstaff efficient, and the poledancers had nice soft warm mouthes and clever tongues.

He took the piece of rock he had been given by a rescued miner, and on the way back to his mansion, threw it from the limousine window straight through the hovel window of one of the miners. It had a piece of paper wrapped round it, on which was written:

“You lot don’t know you’re born! It’s luxury being trapped down those mines! Expect to be killed and buried in secret and your wives and children to be raped and sold to slave traders!”

The ‘don’t know you’re born bit’ was dictated to him by his aide, British Pensioner, Alfred Spermwaste, a dim dumbed down thick as two short planks liked football and tits and reading and believing the bullshit in the paper and watching the news and arguing about politics and football in pubs; waste of space: but useful non the less to the morgue and embalming fluid industry. Good job God loved him neverthelss.

I’m only joking of course. Laugh!

Wa ha haaaaa!

‘Maybe God is one of us

Just a slob, like one of us

Just a stranger on a bus

Trying to make her way home’

?

And Now... here’s what I think.

I think cynicism is very close to the truth of humanity, and so I employ it in my writing. I don’t ‘think’, I KNOW that God is one of us, in fact...all of us. Some believe that, most don’t. Make your own mind up.

I think the mining ‘disaster’ wasn’t a disaster. Those people have been unknown and suppressed for years, and suddenly, through a little of what’s seen as ‘Hardship’... they are now worldwide faces; famous. They can now use their newfound recognition to actually help the world, because those, who under different circumstances would maybe have ‘left’ them? Had to help them, the glare of publicity in those circumstances allows nothing else... Money used doesn’t matter, it’s the human spirit that matters here...and that thing called the human spirit is what is called GOD.

I call him/her Charlie Wilbert, but that’s another story.

Article submitted Thursday, October 14, 2010 & read 19 times.

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