It wasn’t the oppression. We were used to that. The previous regime was oppressive, too. But this guys was humorless. Wouldn’t crack a smile. And he got really angry whenever any of us would appear amused. This was stultifying.
“Don’t try anything funny,” he often said.
Well, tickle my ass with a feather! This would not do. Me and my cohorts needed a plan. We came up with one and proceeded, slyly, to implement it.
The Grand Highness issued his weekly decree on behalf of his beloved subjects.
“Oh, dear subjects, who I am honored to serve in my humble capacity as the council-chosen Leader, these are our solemn guidelines for the upcoming week.”
And he read a bunch of rules and goals and issued a demand for a united front against levity in the face of our serious challenges going forward.
When he said “forward” all of us took a step back, in unison.
The leader frowned. He cleared his throat and repeated firmly.
We all took another step backwards. He tried issuing commands to regain control. He nodded to the head of the National Security Police and dozens of rifles were pointed at us.
We continued, undeterred.
Within minutes, we were all square-dancing to live fiddle players. We were laughing, singing and having a wild hoedown. What the hell. They can’t kill us all. Who would the Leader lead?
I saw the corners of the Leader’s mouth curl up briefly. All the rifles were pointed at him momentarily. Quickly, he resumed his somber appearance.
The Leader was now our prisoner. Time for some fun!