Had attracted 80 percent of the votes using the model of the old Italian Five Star Movement, a kind of join-in good-time party for everyone. Against those at the top. Against the elite. Against scientists and artists and stuff. A group of young, bored programmers are to thank for the software for this wonderful, direct democratic party. “I must say I’m a bit proud.” They’d say if they were allowed to acknowledge their creation. The young, dynamic star of a prime minister, there’s an avatar of him going around the internet, understood from the very beginning how to electrify the people. The populace loves the new prime minister. People gather in front of Westminster Palace and cheer. Since the day of the election they gather there and cheer and know that everything will be different now. The programmers look out the window. Their government is made up of supercomputers, a server room, artificial intelligence.

And an actor.

THE NEW PRIME MINISTER

OCCUPATION: actor. No metadata is compiled about actors. Too uninteresting.

Has been able to preserve his inner child. Thus his occupation. Though “occupation” is the wrong word. Passion and so forth. The usual crap actors say to justify their having one of the most humiliating jobs on the spectrum of useless arts.

In the time since the emergence of the party, that is for months now, the current PM has, through his salt-of-the-earth manner—indeed, his absolutely relatable, authentic manner—attained great popularity. Wherever a social housing block burned down, he was the first on the scene, raising a fist at the sky in front of the still-smoking wreckage. Then the mood shifted, suddenly you hated the poor because they were to blame for rubbish in outer space. The performer playing prime minister was subsequently spotted a little less frequently at social flash points. He no longer appeared at private food pantries. Didn’t allow himself to be photographed with homeless children in concrete pipes anymore; instead he quickly found new ways to win over voters. His speeches were written by AI, they always revolved around the same words.

Freedom. Justice. Work. Respect. Economic power. Great power. Elites. Social decline. Strength. Virility. Work. Work.

He promised work. Real work. Well, unpaid. So, service. And that clinched it. People heard work and dreamed of the past, when the word still carried an implication of advancement. Right, and now. The new prime minister sits on the toilet at his office. He defecates. He’s not the brightest.