It begins (how else?) with them (in this case, the TV licencing company, not the voices in my head) sending me another letter - for my bi-monthly entertainment supposedly. Since I don't have TV that fair enough. Maybe they figured: "He doesn't get much entertainment without TV. Let's just send him regular letters of affection instead." Thanks, chaps.
They've already made me go against my principles: I promised a trilogy, delivered three parts and look at me - I'm at it again. If this was Star Wars we'd now be going back to the time before I got the first letter to describe what I though about TV when I still had it. The thing is that I feel more like a part of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Maybe they also plan to torture me with poetry once they have me.
So, here I have been, holed up, preparing for the worst, stashing provisions for weeks at a time, always waiting for that knock on the door. "Enforcement Officers - open up! We've got the building surrounded." In my fantasies the search light of a helicopter filters through the blinds at that moment. The sound track of the scene would be Metallica's "I Disappear". People will now shake their heads saying "he watched to much TV". On the contrary - too little. Anyway, I haven't seen or heard anything of the TV licencing shock troops yet. Mostly harmless.
So with nothing new and interesting happening I am actually running out of things to say. Thus, I've decided that this will be the absolutely and positively last thing you'll see me write on this. Honestly. Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die - you know.
So, with respect to this letter I got, I was in for another surprise this time. And a shock. After threats, blackmailing and lots of bold and red font - the usual viable means of effective communication - they are trying a completely novel approach. Something that shocked me. Me! After what I've been through. Something so completely and utterly unexpected that I just have to make this sentence really, really long and winding, ridiculously elongated even, so as to make the tension rise just that little, tiny bit more, to the literary fever pitch so to speak, before actually telling you and giving it all away: They try to be polite.
Well, they try. It's still an "OFFICIAL WARNING". This time, however, they try to make it sound politer by telling me why I am forcing them to do this. The evil mobster standing over our hero with a gun pointing at the hero's head saying "don't make me do this". I really can't help it - they make themselves look like villains from a B-movie all by themselves. I just write about it.
They "feel that it is [their] duty to inform me" about my doom as a criminal offender. I'm not sure whether they're now being apologetic or trying to set on example to the sons of England.
Lastly, of course, there the thing we've all been waiting for: the numeric puzzle. "Last month alone we caught 23,966 people." I really can't be hedgehogged anymore. Based on what you know from previous posts, I'll leave it to you smart folks to figure out how random the numbers are this time. Note though they snuck in a disclaimer. They catch 23,966 people - not evaders.
I imagine it this way: A kock on the door. The unsuspecting occupier opens. Three silent, burly men in dark uniforms (maybe even ski masks) are huddled together on the porch. Three pairs of hand grab hold. Moments later the occupier has been catapulted into the hall. "... your statement will be taken in compliance with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984." I hear them shout at the person. "This is the first step towards your prosecution." "I don't even own a sodding TV" cries the person, still bewildered "you have nothing against me." "Shut your face!" The reply echoes through the stair case of the block of flats. "Last month we caught 23,966 people that said the same damn thing." Defiance rings in the voice of the captive as he answers. "Then have a look at my f***ing living room - I even dismantled the f***ing wall socket. See?" He tries to get up and point to the spot. One of the officers slams him back down. "Don't move" he bellows. Then speaking into his headset: "Search squad, move in." Moments later another small, orderly group of uniformed he-men hustle through, carrying high tech equipment and making sounds of "hut hut hut hut hut". They disappear into the open flat. Silence ensues. A masked head pops around the frame of the door. "There nothing here, sir." "What do you mean?" cries the commander. "Nothing, sir. No TV. No VCR. Not even a pocket radio." "Let me see that." The commander, who has been kneeling in the occupiers face, get up and walks in with confident strides. "Gotta do everything yourself these days." Muffled noises of shattering glass, splintering wood and clattering metal ensue. The commander re-emerges. He looks embarrassed despite the ski mask, doesn't know what to do with his hands. He sideles over to the two others who are still restraining their captive. He mumbles something. The others look confused. "Huh?" "Let him up, for f***'s sake!" At this moment the search squad goes by again "hut hut hut hut hut" and disappear down the stairs. The two officers stand the occupier on his feet then also disappear "hut hut hut". There's an awkward silence. The commander brushes some dust of the occupiers clothing. He scratches his head, his neck, his back. He vaguely points in direction of the exit. The occupier nods knowingly. "hut hut hut" and the commander is gone too.
So here you have it: The forth and last in the trilogy. The (anti) climax and grand finale. The last thing I'll have to say about the matter. There's nothing that could make me resume the topic.
Unless, of course, they release Enforcement Officer action figures.
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