parliament

pounding fists upon the wooden bench; furious shouts across the stampede of argument. Eyes glitter with rage, and faces redden with exertion. Pockets feel emptier than this time last month; ideas for rolling coins keep heads up and mouths open. listless eyes, glazed from years of feeding, peer from beneath the ludicrous pile of white straggles, and careless mouths part to spill out the meaningless dribble of reason. bulging stomachs pour from the tightened pinstriped waistline as all rise for the lord of this house of lunacy. And what is this place; this filthied den of deceit and greed? why, the House of the Justice of the Peace, of course.