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fuckitybye[Malcolm's been running around the Ministry of Propaganda all night, spreading around grief like it was Nutella on toast. And it shows when he sits down in front of the camera to give his briefing; those who remember him from the Barge will note that he looks a lot more like his usual vein-popping self than he has since his arrival in Masterworld. Still, he's kind of cheerful. He's got posters to show off, for one thing.]
All right, no fucking around here. Priority number fucking one is this cunt here. [He holds up a photo of Davros.] We need to redouble all efforts to focus the citizenry's efforts on finding him, killing him, and turning him the fuck in— roughly in that order, anyway. We're getting his ugly-arse mug everywhere it can be seen, spreading around as much dirt as we can on him, implying that if you join up with him he's gonna do unspeakable things to your bits with that wheelchair of his—the lot. We're gonna deliver him into the hands of the army, or the police, or the Master himself, but we are gonna fucking deliver.
Now, on a happier note, many thanks to Julius and Terri in Public Entertainment for turning out this on notice shorter than a circus dwarf:
[OOC: Try to pretend that this sucks less than it actually does, folks.]
And by the way—yes, everyone in propaganda is strongly fucking encouraged to attend. I'll be there. We'll fucking all be there. It'll be a great day; fun for the whole fucking family and everything.
Last and least, there's a new farming project starting up next week. There'll be a ceremony, groundbreaking, digging into the pigshit and all; you know the drill.
REMEMBER. NONE of this merriment means any of you lot get to fucking slack. Keep on message on the Barge, the Master's enemies, and especially this Davros cunt. We want them all, dead or alive or fucking around somewhere in between, but we want them. Keep that messaging out there and don't fucking let up.
Tucker out.
All right, no fucking around here. Priority number fucking one is this cunt here. [He holds up a photo of Davros.] We need to redouble all efforts to focus the citizenry's efforts on finding him, killing him, and turning him the fuck in— roughly in that order, anyway. We're getting his ugly-arse mug everywhere it can be seen, spreading around as much dirt as we can on him, implying that if you join up with him he's gonna do unspeakable things to your bits with that wheelchair of his—the lot. We're gonna deliver him into the hands of the army, or the police, or the Master himself, but we are gonna fucking deliver.
Now, on a happier note, many thanks to Julius and Terri in Public Entertainment for turning out this on notice shorter than a circus dwarf:
[OOC: Try to pretend that this sucks less than it actually does, folks.]
And by the way—yes, everyone in propaganda is strongly fucking encouraged to attend. I'll be there. We'll fucking all be there. It'll be a great day; fun for the whole fucking family and everything.
Last and least, there's a new farming project starting up next week. There'll be a ceremony, groundbreaking, digging into the pigshit and all; you know the drill.
REMEMBER. NONE of this merriment means any of you lot get to fucking slack. Keep on message on the Barge, the Master's enemies, and especially this Davros cunt. We want them all, dead or alive or fucking around somewhere in between, but we want them. Keep that messaging out there and don't fucking let up.
Tucker out.
