The Marmite Wars

This post is one of the more bizarre ones. Possibly, because it is about a bizarre occasian that happened recently. I was watching a movie with Andrew, and we heard this noise coming from outside. It sounded like someone was out there speaking, and after a little humming and haaaaing, I set off to investigate. From out the door, you could hear someone on a megaphone speaking things like "come out with your hand's up" and "you are surrounded" and such things like that. In between these outbursts was this music playing, seemingly being played in defiance. all of a sudden there was a flash on the horizon and the music stopped. True story that. What follows isn't strictly true......

The Marmite Wars

The TV glowed a greenish iridescence, illuminating the lounge where the non-conformist agent provocateurs lounged in front of its prescribed viewing for the day, acquiescing to its reasonable demands that they spend an hour or three watching a movie that they had seen already. The protagonist on screen swore, echoing the sentiment in deeply hidden in the many layers of intrigue that made agent John somewhat of an enigma to the few people who bothered to try to understand him. John himself, had he tried to come to grips with his essential being, would have had a hard time trying to quantify, or in the very least, justify his preference for Marmite on toast (as opposed to say, jam, or peanut butter). It was, however, a deeply held conviction of his, and of many of his associates, that one day, Marmite eaters would rise up, throw off their guise of normality, and challenge the status quo, united with a will of iron (1.8 milligrams per recommended serve) to gloriously purge the world of the memory that ever there existed the abomination that is Vegemite.

The AOS team assembled from various directions through the heavily wooded area surrounding the house that had been under constant surveillance for two and a half weeks now, and the team had been briefed on what to expect. The floodlights were in place already, and they were just waiting for the all clear from the GCSB Psychologist whose job it was to ensure that the intended targets would maintain a healthy self esteem during and after the raid. Donning their thermal imaging gear, they stood by silently with weapons at the ready.

The lights flickered for a second, and then suddenly the power was cut. John looked up from trying in vain to programme the remote (for the second time that night) with a steeled determination in his eye, tossing the remote aside. "It's time" he said matter of factly to his associate – an agent who went by the nomenclature of 'Andrew', who glanced at his watch and nodded. They stood in unison, and walking to the stereo that was in the next room, they opened the window, and placed the speakers precariously on the sill.

The Negotiation Team leader, sighed, and flicked the switch that would turn on the floodlights that suddenly illuminated the exterior of the house with an unworldly light, an intense and apprehensive light, that made shadows menacing enough to seem as if they too, were malevolent beings intent on spreading marmite through the whole universe, enveloping it in a darkness that no amount of butter and toast could make appetizing. He shuddered to think what the world was coming to, and would have* had a flashback about how when he was young, Marmite-ites and Vegemite-ites got along fine with each other and even with the agnostics like himself (who couldn't tell any difference between them), A-mite-iests (who didn’t like either one of them) or Multi-mite-arians (who seemed to think that all different typed of spread were valid choices, including the oft-shuddered-against, generimite Marmite substitutes, like the anathema that is 'Powermite'.

"This is the Police" said the voice from behind the megaphone. "You are Surrounded" it said, echoing metallicly among the old growth of the ancient forest. "Come out with your hands raised above your head" demanded the utterance. John cautiously stuck his head through the now open dining room door, and said in no uncertain (certainly uncomplimentary) terms what he thought of that voice. Leaving the door open, he powered on the stereo on the window sill, and the haunting song broke out, diffusing through the trees, catching the negotiator off guard. In his many years of experience, he had never come across this tactic before. Sighing again, he made the decision to call in the top secret Flash Response Team.