fuckitybye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fuckitybye) wrote2010-04-13 09:08 am
fuckitybye) wrote2010-04-13 09:08 am
Entry tags:
008 - Malcolm Tucker's Daily Briefing - Rumourmongers!
[Yes, it's that time again, government officials and propaganda employees. By the way, Malcolm's briefings are eminently leakable. If, say, you were a disgruntled propaganda officeworker or a secret dissident somewhere in the Master's power structure Judas.]
Well, my little shitbirds, we have a new and interesting problem to counter this morning. Seems that there's some rumours circulating in our fine armed forces, and we need to fucking stop them two days ago.
Now, I'm gonna tell you what the rumour is, but let's fucking underline the fact that this wad of fuck is exactly fucking that: a rumour. Some shitheels are claiming that the army won't be paid for the upcoming assault on the Barge, and what's more, that we've skimped on the body armour.
You know and I know that this is not fucking true, but the grunts on the ground will apparently believe that shit is chocolate. So we need two things. One: overt messaging in the general populace from print and social networking that that the government always fucking supports the troops, and so do the rest of the citizens of this fine world, yeah? And two: covert messaging to spread through the rumour mill. New body armour technology in research, forthcoming announcements of new weapons—what the fuck ever, just ensure that it's a. plausible and b. unprovable. You know the drill, lads and lasses, we've fucking done this a million times before.
Meanwhile, keep that Friends and Family campaign running like a fucking doped-up racehorse. In addition to the Doctor, add to the list ... [he glances down at Martha's surveillance bulletin] Morgan Adams, Findthee Swing, 11-12, and 47. Descriptions and additional information to follow.
Keep up the good work, kids. Tucker out.
ETA: [Special Delivery to the Master.]
Well, my little shitbirds, we have a new and interesting problem to counter this morning. Seems that there's some rumours circulating in our fine armed forces, and we need to fucking stop them two days ago.
Now, I'm gonna tell you what the rumour is, but let's fucking underline the fact that this wad of fuck is exactly fucking that: a rumour. Some shitheels are claiming that the army won't be paid for the upcoming assault on the Barge, and what's more, that we've skimped on the body armour.
You know and I know that this is not fucking true, but the grunts on the ground will apparently believe that shit is chocolate. So we need two things. One: overt messaging in the general populace from print and social networking that that the government always fucking supports the troops, and so do the rest of the citizens of this fine world, yeah? And two: covert messaging to spread through the rumour mill. New body armour technology in research, forthcoming announcements of new weapons—what the fuck ever, just ensure that it's a. plausible and b. unprovable. You know the drill, lads and lasses, we've fucking done this a million times before.
Meanwhile, keep that Friends and Family campaign running like a fucking doped-up racehorse. In addition to the Doctor, add to the list ... [he glances down at Martha's surveillance bulletin] Morgan Adams, Findthee Swing, 11-12, and 47. Descriptions and additional information to follow.
Keep up the good work, kids. Tucker out.
ETA: [Special Delivery to the Master.]
Paperwork delivered to Malcom's office
From: Chief of Finance, Judas
Subject: Paperwork
Body:
[All in Hebrew: Do my bidding, you dog. The play is going on, I don't need permission from anyone. The arts are an expression of freedom in its purest sense and should never be censored.]
Overheard in the Ministry of Propaganda
Fucking impertinent illiterate insubordinate little—
[And not long after, a flunky is dispatched, hand-delivering this to the Master's flunkies. A note is attached: "How long you planning to let your little friend get away with this shite? -M.T."]
Printed on a nice sheet of paper, NOTHING TO IDENTIFY THE SENDER but Malc should know:
no subject