I HAD A DREAM

VACCINES, DORSAL FINS, FUN AND FRIVOLITY!

I had this really interesting dream last night. A bizarre dream, but a good dream!

I dreamt that all the leaders of the five eyes nations, our state premiers and their trusted health officials— all those who so unselfishly took it upon themselves to finance the science; research, and buy influence over the health advisory agencies and medical institutions in order to expedite the process of getting those life saving vaccines rolled out and jabbed into billions of people’s arms! All those who served so diligently throughout the course of the pandemic— who so tirelessly and unselfishly worked together towards the common goal of seeing us all through to the other side happy, healthy, safe and sound!

I dreamt all these fine people were gathered together on the deck of this super swish luxury yacht that was anchored in the blue sparkling waters of Sydney Harbour somewhere just off the shoreline—a mere stone’s throw from the Opera House.

There they all were—together, singing, dancing—having a whale of a time! Engrossed in one another’s revelry at this grossly swank and decadent private affair!

As great big purple and silver syringe-shaped balloons bobbled to and fro upon the yacht’s handrails and masts, they quaffed down huge champagne cocktails! Laughing uproariously! Maniacally! Thrilled to be alive and happy to be winners!

A fine array of devilishly exquisite canapés, including baby toes, tongues and tonsils, were served by super-butch looking tattooed drag queens clad in see-through tuxedos, standing some seven feet tall in their giant rainbow coloured leather stilettos!

As a jazz quartet of devilish little imps, played Sade’s “Smooth Operator” over, and over again, Daniel Andrews and Justin Trudeau, (looking very much like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers), glided effortlessly across the dance floor whilst lustfully gazing into one another’s eyes.

A rather gaunt and witchy looking Jacinda Ardern, clad head to toe in black satin and lace—an inverted silver crucifix dangling from her scrawny neck—gently massaged a variety of ancient herbal oils into Klaus Schwab’s old and wrinkly shoulders, whilst desperately trying to catch the eye of her much desired secret love interest, NSW chief health officer, Kerry Chant.

Klaus, looking fat and satisfied, and dressed only in a pair of striking blue and white striped World Economic Forum issued designer boxer shorts, sat there sprawled (somewhat slumped) across a large folding aluminium banana-chair with his name encrusted in gold leaf at the top, smiling wickedly—greedily chomping on a massive Cuban cigar which smoked as though pouring from the fiery chimneys of hell—occasionally stealing huge swigs of two hundred year old imported black label scotch whiskey from a golden flask, before (for whatever reason) hacking it all into a huge brass spittoon which sat directly at the feet of a giant wooden effigy of Baphomet.

A rather forlorn looking Bill Gates sat there on his lonesome—his cruel beady little eyes anxiously darting about—scanning the boat’s upper and lower decks for any prepubescent boys that may have wandered off from their parents and accidentally found their way on board.

******

I was observing the various high society ruling class hi-jinks and shenanigans which were taking place aboard this devilish ship of sin and perversion, from a safely inconspicuous distance of some 45 metres, whilst splashing about in my own personalised rubber dinghy. I was equipped with no more than a six pack of Coopers Pale Ale, 20 grams of commercial brand tobacco and a pair of rather sturdy plastic oars.

******

The rambunctious frivolity aboard the billionaires party yacht reached absolute fever pitch, when a slightly over intoxicated Anthony Fauci— after having somehow managed to climb upon the timber shoulders of Baphomet, felt inclined to belt out a rousing rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “I did it my way!”

Old Klaus Schwaby baby got so damn excited he accidentally dropped his giant Cuban into his phlegm and two hundred year old whiskey drenched spittoon—which of course instantaneously ignited like a Roman candle, thus setting alight the heavily lacquered and highly polished decking floorboards—which in turn, caused all those aboard, in a desperate bid to save their miserable stinking lives—(their bodies already well ablaze)—to jump the rail and plunge into the cold and salty waters below!

As luck would have it (and totally unbeknownst to those on board)— no doubt attracted by the celebratory vibrations emanating from above, not to mention the smell of burning flesh—a large shiver of quite monstrous and ravenously hungry white pointer sharks had gathered and totally encircled the party boat!

As the burning bodies struck the water one by one, the frenzied sharks went to town!—tearing flesh from bone in a frantic blood soaked orgy of frantic screams and foam!

A large group of people had gathered ashore—they frantically screamed for the coast guard! “Help!! Help!!! Please save these poor desperate souls!! Oh my God!! Save our pandemic heroes!! These wonderful people! Our saviours!—are being mauled to death by huge hungry sharks!!!”

Me..? I cracked myself another Coopers—rolled a smoke—sat back in my rubber dinghy and enjoyed the spectacle.

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