Magic Penguin and Fat Giraffe were frequenting their local public house one afternoon, as was their tendency. Fat Giraffe was drinking a generic lager, but Magic Penguin had opted for a more pretentious craft IPA. The Shoe and Phone (for that was the name of the establishment that they were currently patronising) was relatively empty, suggesting that either it was not a particularly thriving business, or that Magic Penguin and Fat Giraffe were drinking when most of the rest of the world was at work. There was more than a little truth in both theories.
“I mean, it’s hardly the ‘Will of the People’ if only 52% of the electorate voted for it,” said Magic Penguin.
“I dunno mate,” reasoned Fat Giraffe, “I’m no mathematician, but 52% does sound like a majority to me.”
“Yes, but it’s a slim majority,” argued Magic Penguin, “and, if you take into account all the people who didn’t vote, then you could argue that more people didn’t vote for it than did.”
“Yes,” acknowledged Fat Giraffe, “but I’m not sure that’s how democracy works. If you don’t vote then you don’t get to have a say.”
“Fine, said Magic Penguin, “but surely you must agree that quite a lot of the 52% didn’t actually know what it was they were voting for.”
“That’s certainly true,” acquiesced Fat Giraffe, “I thought I was voting for breakfast.”
The two sat in contemplative silence for a moment before Fat Giraffe broke it. The silence that is.
He didn’t break anything else, though he was not unknown to break wind on occasion. Sometimes he broke wind and silence at the same time.
But on this occasion, he just broke the silence.
“Is it me,” he began, “or were we just debating Brexit”
“Sounded like that to me,” affirmed Magic Penguin.
“In which case, does that mean that we are, in fact, in Britain?”
“That would seem the logical conclusion,” said Magic Penguin, “Why do you ask?”
“Well, I’d fully accept, that as fictional beings created by a UK ‘writer’, that we’d probably have certain British characteristics, but I wasn’t sure if we weren’t in some sort of made up place that isn’t actually Britain, but more Britainesque.”
“You mean like how Thomas the Tank Engine is based on the island of Sodor, a place that seems a bit like the UK but really isn’t at all?”
“I’m not sure,” pondered Magic Penguin, “I don’t know if the ‘writer’ even knows.”
“Well to be fair, I wouldn’t put a lot of store by what he says anyway,” said Fat Giraffe, “I mean, I’m not sure if that bloke even knows whether he’s coming or going half the time.”
“That seems a little bit harsh,” contended Magic Penguin, “I mean he did create us after all.”
“Yes, but he’s basically ignored us for the best part of 15 years,” countered Fat Giraffe, “he found us entertaining enough when he was avoiding writing essays during his student days, but this is the first time he’s bothered to let us out in ages. I mean he’s had this blog for nearly three years now, and yet this is our first outing. It’s not like he’s been writing much else that’s any good. He could at least have given us a shot before now.”
“It’s true,” mused Magic Penguin, “and he did promise that he was going to bring us back as far back as January 2017”
“Exactly,” fumed Fat Giraffe, “Why’s it taken him a year? What else has he been doing? He’s got time to write 24 rubbish film reviews during December, but he hasn’t got time for us?”
“I quite liked the Advent Calendar of Christmas(ish) films,” said Magic Penguin, “but I take your point. He could have made a bit of time for us earlier.”
“Too right he could have done!” exclaimed Fat Giraffe, “and when he does finally decide to let us have our day in the sun, he buries us on a Sunday morning, fully aware that no-one ever visits his blog on a Sunday morning. And by the time Monday rolls around he’ll no doubt have written something trite about novelty egg cups which means no-one’ll ever read this!”
“That may well be for the best,” suggested Magic Penguin, “It’s not as though this is even very good is it?”
“That’s hardly our fault!” raged Fat Giraffe, “He’s the buffoon that wrote this! Even the title doesn’t make sense. Breaking the ‘fourth wall’ surely only applies to visual media. The man is an absolute idiot”
“You know, I’m not sure it’s all that wise to call the ‘writer’ an idiot,” mused Magic Penguin.
“Why not? He is an idiot!” seethed Fat Giraffe, “What’s he going to do about it?”
At that precise moment Fat Giraffe fell off his bar stool, almost as if pushed by an omniscient and slightly irritated narrator.
“That was a cheap shot,” muttered Fat Giraffe as he picked himself up.
“Anyway, I think the point is that our esteemed creator has had the grace to bring us back today,” said Magic Penguin, almost as if he was sucking up to an omniscient and slightly irritated narrator.
“I suppose so,” agreed Fat Giraffe, who had learned the errors of his ways, “and even if this story isn’t especially good, it is nice to be back.”
“And who knows,” said Magic Penguin optimistically, “Maybe next week’s adventure will be a bit more compelling than this one was.”
But sadly, as he would soon discover, Magic Penguin’s optimism was very much misplaced.