Creative Writing: The Proctor's Poem

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Sidebottom was as bored as any decapitated head could be after being left attached to the console of a small boring ship, inside a boring hanger bay, belonging to a huge boring exploration vessel. He hated boredom with a passion. To such an extent, he decided that, after all the fighting ended, he would put forward a partition to the Legal Council, in which he would be Head Administrator, for it to be outlawed. Or better still, invent a Happy Chip. He was in his third hour of utter tedium when the brain wave struck him. “The Proctor's records!” He barked, as if someone could hear. Although he hated the Proctor, studying his records would, at least, give his mind something to dwell on. He brought up the details of human history…show more content…
This time, mortification attempted to invade his senses. It stood on two legs at such an angle it could fall over at any moment. Long, flat, coloured appendages flowed backwards over its body before standing upright at its rear end. On either side hung limbs that were a pointless exercise in usefulness. “At least this one can’t scratch its backside and stick a finger up its nose,” he thought. Its small head pivoted on top of a short fat neck with two beady eyes on either side. Between them protruded, what resembled, a hard pointed weapon and, on its head sat, what looked like, a crown of floppy, useless rubber. The actions of the creature confounded him the most. It walked across the ground in an erratic manner with its head darting forward and back as if trying to head butt something that wasn’t there. It then jabbed its head into the ground in a repetitive fashion before again trying to head butt something that still wasn’t there. Sidebottom had seen his first…show more content…
He selected the first, entitled, “Their Shocking Origin.” At first he thought he had chosen the wrong heading of ‘Animals’ when a picture materialised depicting a mob of creatures with dark, hair bound bodies, protruding bellies and abnormal jaws. However, when he read the dialogue, stating, “No, you are not seeing things, these are primitive human beings, called Chimpanzees,” it became apparent he hadn’t. “These creatures are human beings?” He gasped, his jaw once again smacking against the console unit. “They’re even weirder than that ‘Orang-utan’ thing.” As he continued to gape, one hit another over the head with a stick causing indecipherable screeching sounds to ensue which, Sidebottom thought, must have been the knockout language in those days. Maybe, he debated, the irrelevant action proved the existence of an inherited stupidity prevalent within the human psyche. The sight of one swinging through the trees before hanging upside-down by its feet, convinced him it

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