“I just wanted to block the porn,” he said, backing away from Nanny State, his pale clammy hands held high in supplication.
“I only wanted to contract a foreign company to filter all British internet communications, blocking porn and nasty violent things and ‘esoteric content‘ that might interfere with our citizen’s understandings of How Things Are All Proper And Fine,” he explained mechanically, reading from the auto-cue in the corner of his bedroom. He loved the auto-cue in the corner of his bedroom. When he got confused and didn’t know what things to think, it would tell him.
It had told him a great many interesting things over the months and the years. He couldn’t remember all of them, but that didn’t matter. There was always something new on the auto-cue. Something new and interesting to say.
Nanny State whacked the flat of the rubber slipper against her palm and beckoned naughty Cameron. He ran a hand through his thinning hair. It had escaped from its minor bouffant as his sweat degraded the bonds of the product and was now flailing atop his head like a pack of illicit protesters.
“Really, Nanny, really,” he bleated. “Have you seen the news of the Royal bi…No! Nanny! No!” She was reaching for him with her big five-eyed hand. The ocular orbs sat on the end of her fingertips, blinking at him with unnatural lashes. Nanny saw all. And thanks to the ears on her knees and elbows, she heard all too.
“I’ve seen your Internet history,” Nanny State boomed. “Filth! Vile filth!”
“But… but… Nanny…” Cameron took up residence under the bed, his pale blue beady eyes peering out at the great clay colored feet of Ms State. “You can’t slipper me, I’m a grown man! I’m an adult.”
“There are no adults anymore,” Nanny State informed him crisply. “Not in the way there used to be. Now there are only people who listen to Nanny and are rewarded with crisps and canned meat, and those who do not. And we know what happens to them, don’t we?”
His heart pounding, Cameron cast a desperate glance toward the auto-cue. Old cuey always got him out of trouble. It always new the precise right thing to say. It did not fail him.
“Yes, Nanny,” he said, reading the words aloud.
PLEASE. SPANK. ME. NANNY.
“Please spank me, Nanny… No!!!”
He cried out in horror as Nanny State reached down, fastened her firm fingers on his lobe and drew him out from his hiding spot. Helpless against the momentum of the great lady, he was drawn over the ridges and valleys of her green and usually pleasant green lap.
The slipper rose into the air and consequently fell, propelled by Nanny State’s far reaching arm. It landed square against his upturned cheeks where the shiny gray material of his trousers was pulled tight against the loose mounds that passed for a posterior.
He wailed as the effect’s of Nanny’s authoritarian policy were manifested in a great rushing burn that saturated his buttocks and left him bucking and crying against her ample body. Tears of regret fell on soon to be soggy carpet as the whacking and slapping echoed around the room.
Desperate for solace, he looked toward the auto-cue. Surely there was something he could say. Surely there was something he could do.
A cry of despair erupted from his throat as he laid eyes on the auto-cue’s gently glowing screen, where the image of a crown was displayed and, underneath it, the words:
“Content prohibited!” He cried. But it made no sense. For the auto-cue had censored itself, leaving him without word or thought in a world of punitive action he did not understand, but was fairly certain he did not deserve.