The Dirt Unit and the Fantastical Muck Machine

The Premier’s dirt unit was a very lovely place
Stacked with sparkly people, full of charm and style and grace
But in spite of their appearance, the task was none too subtle
All they did was dig up dirt with their gigantic shovel
And add a dash of water, to the dirt that they just dug
To create a steaming pile of stinking sour mud
Mud as dark as night, dark as pitch and dark as coal
It’s the muck that’s meant to fill each corner of your soul

With no issue out of bounds, no orifice too dark
The unit’s sole objective is to try and leave a mark
Or perhaps, if not a mark, at least some sort of stain
For nothing sticks as good as mud upon a person’s brain
And so the little diggers kept on shoveling the dirt
All the while confusing it for actual proper work
They stacked it up on tabletops, floors boards and on shelves
Forgetting for a moment that the mud can’t throw itself

Shocked at such an oversight, the unit lost its spark
As one amongst their number then did casually remark
‘What a shame that all this mud will simply go to waste
And that the general public never got to have a taste’
For no one in the unit dared to touch the mud themselves
It’s widely recognized the stuff is fatal to your health
Until it finally struck them, and so relieved the tension
What they really needed was a mud-flinging invention

They considered everything on which they laid they hands
But struggled to find anything that suited their demands
So they pulled apart a tumble dryer marked ‘Fisher Pykel’
And strapped the bits onto the front of the election cycle
With handlebars of chrome and a basket up the front
The election bike was solid but was never meant for stunts
With bits of string and sweat and spit, they soldered and they beat
Until there sat a catapult upon the cycle’s seat

It needed some adjustments and they slaved the whole night long
And the more they beat it up, the more that it looked wrong
But then as dawn awoke they felt a sense of satisfaction
And gazed upon the fiercest looking mud-throwing contraption
To get the best results you had to place it in the gutter
Made of steel and chrome, it stank like rancid butter
It was a thing to envy and make anyone turn green
The unit had invented the first full-on muck machine

They wheeled it through the office and the corridors of power
Where to operate it cost a thousand bucks an hour
But it was worth each cent just to watch it throw some slime
At anyone who might forget to duck their head in time
The muck machine could smear a target from one hundred paces
It got mud on their feet and hands but mostly on their faces
The unit cheered and clapped – it seemed the thing to do
Never really noticing the mud was on them too

The Premier’s dirt unit are a very special breed
They serve to give us something that we didn’t really need
Dressed in long white coats and other scientists’ apparel
They search to find what lies beyond the bottom of the barrel

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