One day, the old, brown British bricks of Buckingham palace had decided that enough was enough. For too long had they constituted the house of the monarch. The wind often chilled their hollow bones, and the rain wet their dusty clothes. “ No, no, this is all too much.” said the British bricks, and made much of a fuss. They decided they would roll away to Spain, or Portugal, or somewhere where the sun showed his face..
You see, the British bricks wanted to be sovereign over their fate, instead of a fete over the sovereign. They also simply could not stand, their being British bricks, the Corsican curtains, the Polish plumbing, or the Sicilian stoves. “No, no this is all too much” said the British bricks, lifting his stiff upper lip. The curtains take all my sunlight, the plumbing hides away most of the night, the stoves work in droves! How will my children make a building someday, if these foreign appliances live and work in Buckingham palace.
So the British bricks of Buckingham bickered and beat their breasts, calling the rest of the bricks to a vote and a test. And King Brick arose, on the tip of his tippiest nose, his name was Brickis Brickson “Brother Bricks, today is a day we prove we are stronger than Hungarian hay.”
But the author almost forgot to explain! The bricks had taken a vow when Brickiam the Bonkerer had most of the Isles conquerered, in a state of ecstatic Christianity and superstructural mentality, to never have sex. So important was their chastity that bricks from time immemorial would chant “Never have sex” on the Lord’s day, and, for no apparent reason, Monday. “Never have sex, Never have sex” rang the hills of Hillsborough. “Never have sex, Never have sex” shook the sands of Dover.” This become such the fashion and dogma that after World War 2, when the world of baked clay reverted to barbarity, and sexuality, the British Brick Council (BBC) set up a national fund to Never Have Sex, called by its acronym NHS. But over the years, the British Bricks had become unlucky and cursed, and the Fairer Clay more sexually liberated, that British Bricks had failed to keep up the funding of the NHS.
So Brickis Brickson continued his speech, “I, foremost of the never have sexers, as my unsatisfied wife can attest, swore to uphold the NHS. So did Jacob-Rusty-Muck, my loyal cinder-companion , deeply versed in the ways of never having sex. In fact all the most established of this country, the most esteemed, established and conservative bricks of the land, have never had sex. Never! And we swore, and intend, to uphold that promise.
But no, no said the British bricks of Westminster. “Naughty, naughty, Brickis Brickson. Where will the money come from?
Brickis Brickson replied: “ We will sell off the Polish plumbing.”
The British Bricks of Westminster responded: “But how will we shit?”
Brickis Brickson replied: “ We will sell off the Corsican curtains.”
The British Bricks of Westminster responded: “ But how will we lie in the shade?”
Brickis Brickson continued: “ Enough of your questions silly British Bricks of Westminster, Let us ask the rest of the British Bricks.
But Jeremy Cinderbum refused. “ Let us exhaust him, make him Labour, “ he whispered to his bricky comrades.
So the British Bricks argued, and bickered among themselves. While the South African sands laughed, distracted for once from the blood on their hands, and the American steelblocks ate, and ate, and continued eating, watching from across the pond, laughing at the Bricks but not understanding a single word.
And God and the angels from the starry heavens, looked down and laughed. “Oh well, oh well” said God, “at least the British Bricks have screwed up worse then what I did with my rod.” And the angels cracked up laughing, but then went quiet, realizing what God had actually said.