When the Revolution Comes

Plutonium Teagarden decided that he must become a left-wing revolutionary one Saturday, around tea-time. Up until then he had been a mild-mannered clerical assistant, tasked with the vital filing of costumer-satisfaction reports for one of the most well-known contemporary hair care product lines on the market.

For some time, Teagarden had realised that not only was his existence pointless and purposeless, it also made it very difficult for him to get a decent shag.

However, for some reason, he thought that committing himself to a political ideology would somehow change this state of affairs. If not that, he hoped it would, at least, get him out of his rather dull room in his parent's house where he had spent every Saturday afternoon since he was born, apart from one six-week stretch in his early teens when he'd developed a sudden interest – swiftly followed by equally-sudden complete disinterest – in the local football team.

Of course, political activism is about as sexy as sharing an ice-cold sheep dip with a trainee supermarket manager, a confused toad and several dead leaves, but Teagarden did not realise this at the time.

This sudden political awakening was mainly due to him opening the door to a political party canvasser at around half-past-seven on Wednesday afternoon the previous week. The party worker was what Teagarden could only describe as a young woman. It was most unusual for a young woman to want to speak to Teagarden about anything – including hair care customer satisfaction reports – so one actually interested – or even pretending to be interested – in his opinions was a novel – and a somewhat surprisingly sexually-arousing - experience for Teagarden. His only other real sexual experience up until then happened when a young Blue Peter presenter had become rather stickily-entangled in a wayward piece of sticky-backed plastic, just three weeks after Teagarden’s 14^th birthday.

The young female party worker – Jemima – was of course of impeccable modern left-wing credentials, being the privately-educated offspring of a hedge-fund manager and BBC political journalist. It took her only a matter of moments and an ethical feminism-inspired display of her not-inconsiderable cleavage to get Teagarden to sign up to a lifetime party membership.

Another ethical display of cleavage – with the merest hint of nipple – made Teagarden also promise to attend a demo the following week where - Jemima promised - several thousand like-minded ‘activists’ would demonstrate against the government’s callous decision not to spend other people’s money on those that didn’t need it, but felt they deserved it anyway as a basic human right.

The members of Jemima’s workers’ revolutionary party cadre: Sebastian, Tarquin, Samantha and the others were all keen to involve Teagarden in their revolutionary activities in preparation for the upcoming demo. Some of them even went as far as ostentatiously refusing to wash their hands after discovering that Teagarden actually worked for a living, with Sebastian even enquiring if Teagarden would consider being his butler should the demo turn into a sit-in or protest encampment.

However, once the demo got underway, the entire cadre were arrested for being ‘smug self-obsessed posh bastards in a manner likely to cause physical illness in a police officer’, in the first 10 minutes of the demo. Teagarden then found himself alone in the police cells. The rest of the gang had all immediately phoned each of their daddy’s lawyers who all had a word with the Chief Constable over a promise of a round of golf in the near future and thus enabling the police to release the protestors without charge.

Teagarden was found guilty of looking like a trouble-maker and sentenced to 10 minutes of community service. Afterwards, he decided that political activism was not really his sort of thing after all. He then decided to devote the rest of his life to internet-inspired mammoth masturbation sessions, just like any other normal young man, instead.