Derek, an articulate sixteen-year-old from a wealthy family, summed up the problem. 'You get depressed at school, or something goes wrong with your girlfriend, or you find out your maths teacher is a homosexual, and you think: I'll just have one little slice to keep me going. Next thing, you've eaten nearly a whole gâteau, and then you open another one and pretty soon you can be on six or seven a day. Then you have to start stealing the money to afford them.'
NAFF promised more clinics and more advice centres for teenagers who wanted to get off frozen food.
Mrs Munde leafed through the rest of the paper. It was very impressive.
'So what do I have to do?' she asked the secretary.
'Well, we'd like you to start with some market research. We've got this questionnaire to help a person discover whether they're really hooked or just a nibbler; and we've got a book for parents whose children want a freezer for a wedding present; and we've just published this, written by our president. It's called The Freezer Generation: A Study in Tyranny. I think it's going to be decisive in our campaign. I mean when you know how you've been conned by the adverts you won't be able to give a freezer away, let alone sell one.'
'Well, we all look forward to that day,' said Mrs Munde fervently. 'So shall I read all this and devise my campaign?'
'If you would,' said the secretary. 'And when you do start on the highways and byways remember to tell us your success rate, so that we can print it in the paper. Good luck. We've never had an editor on street duty before.'
No they hadn't; but then no one had lost their arm in a hamburger machine for the glory of the Lord before. So, really, it was cause and effect.
Desi made it to the Strip and found a convenient crevice. She wasn't sure where the cloud would land but she reckoned it would need a stretch of flat, and accordingly she chose the flattest stretch and waited. She didn't have to wait long. Noah's limousine came careering across the sands, with Japeth, Ham and Shem sitting on the back. 'So they're in on it too, the bastards,' she thought, realising that if she didn't know, Rita and Sheila probably didn't either. Noah was driving and looking for all the world like an enervated cue ball. The car screeched to a halt and the four sat in silence, licking their lips and watching the sky. Suddenly the wind began to blow, piling sand into their faces and sweeping it into Desi's hideout. She was terrified she would start to cough. Then the cloud appeared, brilliant white and seven times brighter than the sun. Desi could not help but be impressed. To think this guy had started out as ice cream. There was a flash; and what Desi guessed to be the great Unpronounceable himself - but dimmed, for mortal purposes - floated out and hovered above the side. He waved for Noah to come forward.
'Hello, mother. How are you?' (At this greeting the angels snickered, knowing how YAHWEH talked about Noah behind his back.)
'I'm very well. Yes, we're all very well. What can I do for you?'
'You know damn well what,' snapped the Lord, reverting to type. 'What's going on with this film? I'd said I'd put my name to the books but we made no arrangement about a film. I haven't got a contract, have I?'
'I wasn't sure where you were staying,' faltered Noah. 'You know how you move around... 'I will not work with that rabbit woman — what's her name, Bunny Mixomatosis? She makes me sick. I hate that show of hers. I don't know why we watch it.'
('But we like it, we like it,' chorused the neutered angels who couldn't really help being voyeurs.)
'You lot shut up,' shouted the Lord, then turned back to Noah. 'Tell me the plot. Who's in it, and what do I get out of it?'
Noah tried. He was at his best, explaining the subtleties of the rabbit's text, how closely it was based on Genesis or How I Did It. He told God about the forthcoming booked-up tour to York and Wakefield. Finally he gave way to despair. 'It's for your
NAFF promised more clinics and more advice centres for teenagers who wanted to get off frozen food.
Mrs Munde leafed through the rest of the paper. It was very impressive.
'So what do I have to do?' she asked the secretary.
'Well, we'd like you to start with some market research. We've got this questionnaire to help a person discover whether they're really hooked or just a nibbler; and we've got a book for parents whose children want a freezer for a wedding present; and we've just published this, written by our president. It's called The Freezer Generation: A Study in Tyranny. I think it's going to be decisive in our campaign. I mean when you know how you've been conned by the adverts you won't be able to give a freezer away, let alone sell one.'
'Well, we all look forward to that day,' said Mrs Munde fervently. 'So shall I read all this and devise my campaign?'
'If you would,' said the secretary. 'And when you do start on the highways and byways remember to tell us your success rate, so that we can print it in the paper. Good luck. We've never had an editor on street duty before.'
No they hadn't; but then no one had lost their arm in a hamburger machine for the glory of the Lord before. So, really, it was cause and effect.
Desi made it to the Strip and found a convenient crevice. She wasn't sure where the cloud would land but she reckoned it would need a stretch of flat, and accordingly she chose the flattest stretch and waited. She didn't have to wait long. Noah's limousine came careering across the sands, with Japeth, Ham and Shem sitting on the back. 'So they're in on it too, the bastards,' she thought, realising that if she didn't know, Rita and Sheila probably didn't either. Noah was driving and looking for all the world like an enervated cue ball. The car screeched to a halt and the four sat in silence, licking their lips and watching the sky. Suddenly the wind began to blow, piling sand into their faces and sweeping it into Desi's hideout. She was terrified she would start to cough. Then the cloud appeared, brilliant white and seven times brighter than the sun. Desi could not help but be impressed. To think this guy had started out as ice cream. There was a flash; and what Desi guessed to be the great Unpronounceable himself - but dimmed, for mortal purposes - floated out and hovered above the side. He waved for Noah to come forward.
'Hello, mother. How are you?' (At this greeting the angels snickered, knowing how YAHWEH talked about Noah behind his back.)
'I'm very well. Yes, we're all very well. What can I do for you?'
'You know damn well what,' snapped the Lord, reverting to type. 'What's going on with this film? I'd said I'd put my name to the books but we made no arrangement about a film. I haven't got a contract, have I?'
'I wasn't sure where you were staying,' faltered Noah. 'You know how you move around... 'I will not work with that rabbit woman — what's her name, Bunny Mixomatosis? She makes me sick. I hate that show of hers. I don't know why we watch it.'
('But we like it, we like it,' chorused the neutered angels who couldn't really help being voyeurs.)
'You lot shut up,' shouted the Lord, then turned back to Noah. 'Tell me the plot. Who's in it, and what do I get out of it?'
Noah tried. He was at his best, explaining the subtleties of the rabbit's text, how closely it was based on Genesis or How I Did It. He told God about the forthcoming booked-up tour to York and Wakefield. Finally he gave way to despair. 'It's for your
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