The Arse in the Wind

A Prime Ministerial Arse was dangling in the wind, testing the air and meditating profoundly upon the advantages of low-tax democracy, when it heard a small, sad noise like a deflating chancellor. Searching for the source of the interruption, the Prime Ministerial Arse espied the limp form of its own Minister for Cultural Enforcement being propelled about the sky with uncomfortable rapidity. At this the Prime Ministerial Arse was somewhat surprised and not a little indignant, since some time before, in the interests of clean commercial practice, the Minister for Cultural Enforcement had taken up permanent residence in the arse of a Morally Engaged Media Empire.

"What are you playing at?" demanded the Prime Ministerial Arse. "Get back in your place immediately, for I have it on good authority that our friend the Morally Engaged Media Empire is about to engage in a number of major transactions. Your presence will be necessary to ensure that the dirt and slime are duly scraped off each one, and then made available to be hurled at our opponents when the chance presents itself."
"Alas!" exclaimed the Minister for Cultural Enforcement. "Nothing would delight me more than to obey, but I am at present engaged in being buffeted by this Gale of Public Indignation, which has inexplicably blown up around me thanks to the precipitate activities of my underlings."
"How dreadful for you," said the Prime Ministerial Arse, as the Gale of Public Indignation began to make delicate ripples across its ample buttocks; "by all means continue to fly about. I trust the fresh air will help you over your traumatic experience; and if you should happen to meet your master, the Morally Engaged Media Empire, be sure to inquire on my behalf whether its intestinal discomfort has abated."