The Greenskull Chronicles – A matter of image.
‘This better be good’ growled Greenskull, pissed at the interruption as Gerald entered his office. ‘I’m sorting out that French fucking farce at that climate can-can in Froggie land’.
Things weren’t going too well on that particular front, Gerald somehow intuited …
Gerald, who apart from Monica and no other living person in the world that Greenskull had left alive, could lay claim to having some idea of how his mind worked, felt he was on safe ground. Despite being terrified of him on a regular basis, he’d learnt enough to know what should be escalated up to his lord and master to do what he did so well.
‘We’re doing this consolidated psychological study about how all climate skeptics are slightly mad …’ began Gerald but Greenskull interrupted him straight away.
‘My boy, the Polack!’ exclaimed Greenskull, glad of any ray of sunshine on a bad afternoon.
‘Yes boss, but I think there’s a problem about the picture of him as lead author they want to put on the press handout’.
‘Show me, Gerry’ said Greenskull, reaching out to Gerald for the tablet with the problematic picture on it.
‘Tell me there’s a better picture Gerry’.
‘Not that I’ve been able to find’.
‘Get one of your media luvvies to photoshop it. If they can turn someone normal into the fucking elephant man, they must be able to do something with him’.
‘Probably, but the handout is scheduled to go out this afternoon. We’re out of time’.
‘Well we’re not going public with that little photoshop of horrors’, decided Greenskull thinking furiously.
‘Who else has a name on this paper?’ he enquired.
‘Well, there’s a Professor Lyn Littlefield’ offered Gerald, taking back the tablet and leafing through the relevant images before handing it back to Greenskull with the best one on screen.
‘We’re not doing bloody grab a granny night Gerald’.
‘ Next’ ordered Greenskull imperiously, handing it back.
‘There’s only one more left’ said Gerald, eyeing Greenskull with some trepidation. ‘A professor Keri Norgaard’.
‘Gowon, it can’t be any bloody worse’ said Greenskull, who was rapidly losing the will to live on this one. It could only get better.
‘Aggghhh. Jesus Christ’ exclaimed Greenskull, thinking he’d never let anything with choppers like that near his chopper. All she needed was a fin on her fucking back. A great white nerd with specs and crossed eyes.
‘No fucking way Gerry, we’ll go with Miss Marple first, mothballs and all’.
‘Don’t we have any dollies on our side?’ enquired Greenskull in exasperation, handing the tablet back.
Gerald, standing in front of Greenskull’s desk, google imaged for all he was worth and finally came up with something passable. He handed the tablet back to Greenskull.
‘Gerry, I’m not into that transgender thing, so I can’t see the appeal here about that thing with the earrings on’ said Greenskull, idly hitting the browser back button to see if he couldn’t find anything that looked remotely shaggable on a dark night after a particularly heavy session. He found that Gerry was searching on climate wars women.
‘Ah ha, she’s the one’ he pronounced, stabbing at her picture and handing the tablet back to Gerald for a look.
‘Can’t go with her boss’.
‘From memory, I don’t think she’s particularly supportive of the cause’.
‘Gerry, Gerry, the only people who ever see a press handout are the press and we’re talking here about enviro journos. They can barely read past the first fucking paragraph before they start cutting and pasting. If you moved their dinner plate one foot to the left, they’d fucking starve to death’.
‘Do it’ ordered Greenskull.
And that’s how the flower of environmental journalism managed to put Donna Laframboise’s name to a face on an alarmist press release about how nutty climate skeptics were.
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