Miss Morality in ‘The Tunnels of Intolerance’- Part Two

Written by: Mark. A. Pritchard
Released on: The Rorshach Rant- 6th March 2015



As she rushed, heroically, into the cold, dark, patriarchy filled streets, the strong, empowered, beautiful and independent Miss Morality courageously blocked out the despairing wail of a crying child and moved forward, towards her duty, her destiny, her raison d’être.

No longer would the white male privilege of her society continue to victimise those she loved, no longer would she remain powerless, victimised, unable to defend herself from the tidal wave of sexism, of racism, of homophobia, of intolerance that was destroying the very planet herself. NO, she would bravely stand up, and do something about this intolerable situation. A member of the homosexual community had been raped by the system one too many times, and today was the day when she righted that wrong, and changed the world forever.

Rufus ran into the street, mobile phone in hand, frantically waving at the departing Miss Morality as she took the Number 176 Bus.

‘Miss Morality, Miss Morality…wait. I have to go to work in ten minutes and my sister is missing. Who is going to look after the baby, she’s crying. Miss Morality…..Miss Morality.’

Focus, focus was needed here, no distractions, just focus, and that’s what Miss Morality had in spades. The world was blocked out, her mission was set, the outside world faded into the background as she concentrated on her goal, the goal of liberation, the goal of emancipation, the goal of freedom.

‘Daddy, what’s the matter with that lady?’ Asked a young girl who sat one row behind our snorting, mumbling and ranting super-heroine as the number 176 Bus jerkily made it’s way through the mid-afternoon traffic.

‘Don’t look at her Sally. She’s not very well,’ her father softly and quietly replied as he shifted in his seat now shielding his daughter from an increasingly loud and agitated Miss Morality as she cleared the back of the Bus from all passengers but herself.

Meanwhile, deep beneath the city centre, in the cold, grimy, filthy, rat infested den known as the ‘Man cave of Intolerance, the devilish group known as ‘The Politically Incorrect Scoundrels’ chuckled in delight at the scene they had expertly managed to orchestrate.

‘Ha, ha, ha, ha ha, my fellow scoundrels, the plan is working to perfection,’ spoke up the leader of the group, the face of evil himself, a man known only as ‘The Dissenter.’

‘Not only has Miss Morality left a crying baby behind her, she has also caused quite a scene on public transport. Her true colours are being revealed, and the public will inevitably start to lose sympathy for her rightful cause. Now, let’s sit back, relax, and watch our Patriarch-cam monitors as she walks directly into our trap, Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.’

And as the evil, cackling laugh reverberated around the lair of the villainous scoundrels a kind hearted, trusting selfless Miss Morality walked straight into their trap.

Can of mace in hand, and with her keen senses alert to the faintest threat of danger, Miss Morality stealthily made her way up the front path towards Ruthus’s flat.

‘Oh hi Liz, nice costume you are wearing. How’s little baby Sojourner today? Does she still have her funny tummy?’ said a smiling, cheerful, middle-aged lady as Miss Morality crept stealthily down the pathway.

‘Yeah, she’s fine. Bit busy now, chat later,’ mumbled a fiercely determined and steadfast in her assignment Miss Morality. This was no time for chatting; this was a life or death situation she was dealing with here.

‘Oh, okay then. Talk later love,’ came the reply from the ever cheerful, middle aged victim of masculine, rape culture oppression.

Miss Morality had been working on her for six months now, but it just didn’t seem to be working. Patriarchy was strong, but social justice was stronger, and Miss Morality felt sure that it would just be a matter of time before this poor, deluded old lady was wakened up to the realities of our times.

However, that smiling middle class lady was not what she appeared to be. She was no innocent; she was in fact the distraction agent of the Scoundrels. It was her job to distract Miss Morality, to break her focus, to leave our brave heroine open to attack, and that is exactly what she had done. Miss Morality attempted to refocus her attention on the mission of the day, but she was off guard, and taken unawares.

What happened next was almost beyond words, beyond powers of description, of comprehension, of believability in fact. The front door of the block of flats flew open, and a smiling young man bowed respectfully before a startled Miss Morality, loudly announcing,

‘Hey lads, the stripper’s here. Barry get Dave, get Dave quick, he’s going to love this. Right love, we’re ready, that bald bloke coming down the stairs now is the husband to be, so do your worse and show him some final freedom before his big day.’

Everything in her body screamed no, struggled to rebel, to fight the situation, to fight for woman-kind, to fight against this disgusting display of brute male sexist aggression, but Miss Morality felt powerless to resist. She struggled and struggled, but the distraction agent had done her work and our brave social justice warrior felt her willpower evaporating. What happened next was terrible.  She grabbed a bottle of vodka, took a hearty gulp, and then began to slowly strip, and dance for the group of demonically cheering men.

Just half an hour later and the world was turned completely upside down. Miss Morality was dancing drunkenly upon a table, and a panicked, scared and quietly sobbing homosexual brother searched desperately for his missing sister, and somebody, anybody to help him pacify a crying baby girl. He called his sister, called his friends, called his family, but there was no reply. Something very strange was happening here, and he didn’t know what to do.

The wild, triumphant scenes of celebration coming from the bowels of the earth threatened to shake the city itself as the gang of rogues known as the Politically Incorrect Scoundrels saw their perfectly set trap coming into fruition.

‘Settle down lads, settle down,’ said the devilishly hateful Dissenter, the leader of the group of intolerant, sexist, racist and homophobic scoundrels.

‘Our plan is going just as I envisioned. Miss Morality has been drawn into our tractor beam of Patriarchy. She is powerless to resist, and her time as a thorn in our manly sides is over. It’s now time to put stage two of our plan into operation.’ 

There was no humour in his voice, not now, just cold, harsh malice as he detailed the endgame of his devious, woman hating plans.

‘Our friends in the Police and Social services are waiting, we have netted our prey. It’s time we put this wet fish out of her misery. The days of social justice for all are over. Miss Morality is finished. Make the call, and end her for good.’


END OF PART TWO

Miss Morality will return next week (Friday 13th March) in ‘The Tunnels of Intolerance’- Part 3. How can our brave heroine extricate herself from what seems like certain doom?   All will be revealed next week. DON’T MISS IT.

* If any artist would be willing to illustrate this story, then please let me know.