Added: 1043 days ago by Man on the street | Posted in: Politics | 5 Comments

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<div align='center'><a href='http://www.kontraband.com/blog/16887/Panic-On-The-Streets-Of-London/'>Panic On The Streets Of London</a><br><div align='center'></div><br><a href='http://www.kontraband.com/blog'>See more like this on kontraband.com</a></div>

Barack "Lord Jesus" Obama, the saviour of our planet and refugee from planet Krypton, was in London this week at the G20 summit with other world leaders trying to save the global economy from meltdown by throwing money at its gaping jaws like it was a ravenous beast. The world's poor can go eat another delicious dust flatbread, with a side of flies, for now...

Some of you may've heard about it. And while this was taking place, to show their collective confusion various demonstrators - arachnids, conservatives, trustafarians, old Etonians, the Rebel Alliance, students, the great unwashed, rebels without a gauze (for their hash-pipes) and meth addicts - took to the streets of the City of London, the financial district, to voice their dissent about, er, you know, THE MAN and stuff. Yeah.

Kontraband went out to the heart of the battleground, dressed in our finest carnival wear - jester hat and tie-dye trousers with Om symbol on, and winkle-pickers - to get people's opinions and gauge the general consensus about how all these differing tribes felt, and to find out what all the ruckus was about. We interviewed those on both sides of this barbed fence, so we could be as impartial as possible.

Was this the day the revolution came, and if so who would be first against the wall, or is that just someone having a piss? Did the hippies make it back in time for tea...?

Kontraband: So you're what you're people call an arachnid?
Masked Protestor: Anarchist
Kontraband: Ah. So what are your plans for the day? Carnage squared, with a dash of disruption?
Masked Protestor: I'm gonna eat the city. Eat it right up. Starting with this building behind us.
Kontraband: You're going to actually eat it? Literally...?
Masked Protestor: Yeah, this city has consumed our lives, taken our jobs, our money, now I'm gonna consume it. For the people of this world! I'm gonna whittle it down to nothing; swallow it all like the crumbling symbol of corporate greed, wasted resources and capitalist whoremongering and money-masturbating it represents!
Kontraband: Riiiight. Like a capitalist crumble, of sorts? Well, good luck with that. Would you like this bottle of ketchup, might make it tastier?
Masked Protestor: No man, ketchup is the condiment of the masses, put there to make us all drunk on its tomatoey goodness. [At this point he walked off, bit into an old stone building behind us, then screamed in agony. He was last seen being stretchered onto an ambulance, holding what looked like some teeth, and crying out in pain.]

Kontraband: So, Mr Policeman, how do you feel about actually having to work today? Usually you'd be walking the streets with your mate, eyeing up the chicks, chatting about what you had for dinner. Wouldn't you?
Policeman: Well yes, it's a bit rich all this isn't it? But you know, needs must. Plus it's good to flex these truncheons and attack people. Crack a few hippy skulls, yes?
Kontraband: Erm...should you really be saying this? Surely you're there to control the crowds and ensure the march remains peaceful and people get to exercise their right to protest?
Policeman: Yes, that, and crack a few pansy pagan skulls. They pop like water balloons.
Kontraband: Right. So what sort of special training is required to ensure you can handle such large crowds and keep your cool? How do you keep the adrenaline from running wild, that kind of thing? I hear these forces have some of the best crowd control people in Europe. So what's your secret?
Policeman: Well, what we do, down at the station, is we make an effigy of a hippy; dreadlocks made from horse manure, and clothes covered in faeces, then we take turns hitting it with our truncheons. On its skull. Pop. Pop. Kontraband: Well, that's certainly...er...not what I expected.
Policeman: To ensure they can't run away, we box the grimy mongrels in, then we just start randomly lunging at them. Women, children, if there's an off duty Oxfam worker or liberal judge in the crowd, you get a little bonus in your pay check for that.
Kontraband: So there's no actual policing involved then?
Policeman: Don't be daft.
Kontraband: Nice. Well it's been thought-provoking talking to you. Try not to hurt too many people, there's lots of young people with flowers painted on their faces, I'm sure they're not out to cause trouble.
Policeman: The flower is a symbol of terrorism. It's a secret sign which means: KILL. ALL. INNOCENTS. Al-Qaeda use it. So do communists, the French and traitors to our Queen and country.
Kontraband: Do they? I've never heard of it before?
Policeman: No, well you wouldn't have, but we are privy to secret information. Just be careful goddammit! That's all I'm saying. The women and children are the worst. Shoot them on sight. Here, take this stick, if you see a hippy make sure you give it a good thwack. On its skull. Aim for the flower.
Kontraband: Oooo-K.

Kontraband: So, Jimmy, tell us where you're from and your reasons for being here?
Jimmy Climate: Well, I'm from Hastings.
Kontraband: Hastings, on the south coast of England. A hotbed of insurgency.
Jimmy: Well, yes. You see I'm here to show that those fat cat bankers can't take anymore of our money. Abolish money, up with flowers, down with horrible people, no to heating up mud, vegetation has a right to vote, animals are people too you know, and free cider for everyone.
Kontraband: I see, those are some random causes there. Can you explain to me about heating up mud?
Jimmy: Well I read somewhere that earth was being heated up, getting warmer.
Kontraband: That's the Earth Jimmy. Our planet.
Jimmy: Oh. Really? I presumed that mud was being put in a microwave, heated up for a few minutes, then thrown back in the garden.
Kontraband: Not that I'm aware of.
Jimmy: Ah, well scrap that one then. But yeah, death to corporations, and the economy, and democracy, and...erm...to, you know, the evil bad men.
Kontraband: The evil bad men?
Jimmy: Yeah. The International Bank of Business and Credit (IBBC) involved in arms trading, money laundering, and the destabilization of governments.
Kontraband: I think that was a film, called The International.
Jimmy: Not a documentary?
Kontraband: No.
Jimmy: Oh. Well, anyway...Hang on, I think I hear my mother calling me. It's time for our picnic. She gets angry if the family doesn't eat together.
Kontraband: OK...off you go little Jimmy, it was great talking to you. I think your shoelace is untied, careful you don't trip up.
Jimmy: Thanks mister. Right after I have this picnic, world be warned, I'm gonna smash me some windows! I'm gonna...[At this point his mother stormed over, grabbed him by his ear, and dragged him off]

Banker: What ho.
Kontraband: Howdy
Banker: Spiffing day for it, wouldn't you say?
Kontraband: I suppose so. So how do you feel about all this then, happening right where you work?
Banker: Well, it's a bit orf, isn't it? I was due to have lunch today with my friend Bertie, I was looking forward to a roast Scottish langoustine, crushed ratte potatoes with claw meat, langoustine foam & parmesan tuille washed down with a bottle of Montrachet 1978. But we had to bloody cancel because of these wretched hooligans. If I had my way I'd be having a ballotine of hippy thigh with a veloute made from a Marxist's brains! Washed down with the blood of an eco-warrior. Ha ha. What!
Kontraband: So cannibalism then.
Banker: Listen here you cretin. I tell you, in my day, we'd have hosed these b#stards down, rounded them up, packed them into small plastic containers and sent them off to Siberia.
Kontraband: Siberia? Interesting. Why Siberia?
Banker: So they could be put to work on the damn mines, after taking away their knees, to show them what a real job is like. Bloody scroungers, if any of these vandals come near me I will give them a poke in the ruddy eye with my cane. I know the PM personally, you know. And if he wants us to keep him in power, he will do as I jolly well say. If I say kill all hippies, gosh darn it, he better bally well kill them all! I've seen brain damaged monkeys with more manners.
Kontraband: Monkeys? What about the right to peaceful protest, to voice distrust in the global powers that govern our world?
Banker: What about it? If you want to protest, go and live in Eastern Europe. They don't have governments over there, or f#ck off to Wales. Go and live in the hills with the rest of the freedom fighters.

Trader: Yeah I'm gonna f#cking beat up on any of those stoopid hippies. While they're here protesting, we're repossessing their homes. Hur. Hur hur. Geddit?
Kontraband: It's funny. Cos it's true.
Trader: Hippy bashing, it's the new sport of the financial district.
Kontraband: Is it indeed?
Trader: Yeah, that and bonuses.
Kontraband: Very good.
Trader: Hur, hur.
Kontraband: It wasn't that funny.
Trader: Hur, hur, hur.
Kontraband: OK, enough now
Trader: Hur, hur, hur.
Kontraband: You're a moron
Trader: Hur, hur, hur.

So there you go, the voices from the street. It was a tough day out there, even the Kontraband offices were under siege, dissidents, internets haters and arachnids grabbed scaffolding and tried to smash the windows to our offices, screaming "We paid for this site!" Then a pleading cry from someone in the crowd went, "Don't do it!!" Fortunately, by the grace of God, a bus went past full of frail old people, poor immigrants and mothers loaded down with children and bags of shopping, and they chased after them. Flipping them the bird and shouting, "Down with the capitalist pigs! Down with the corporate nazi scum!" It was a close call.

As I walked to work the next morning through the eerily hippy-free streets of the city of London, the bankers were no longer "dressed-down" in their loafers, bad denim pulled up to their chins with shirts tucked in, and blazers that wouldn't be out of place on a yacht. The hippies having gone back to the Home Counties, I looked around and there were random discarded dreadlocks scattered amongst the old newspapers, uneaten organic brownies, and empty cans of cider, the last remnants of the great hippy stand of 2009. It will be remembered in history as a day when the voices of the people echoed through the streets of London, and the world leaders shrugged and went "meh", and a few panes of glass got smashed. A day when change came, had a quick look around, didn't really like what it saw, turned on its foot - careful not to tread on any broken glass - and ran away to a hotter climate, where it could bask in the hot sun while a warm sea breeze gently caressed its face. And the chicks wore nothing but thongs made from dental floss and the cocktails were bountiful...

Added: 1043 days ago by Man on the street | Posted in: Politics | 5 Comments

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