In a groundbreaking move destined to change the landscape of political events — and relieve millions of grumbling stomachs — politicians today unveiled an initiative to cap speeches at precisely the right length to avoid sabotaging the nation’s lunchtime plans.
The new policy aims to cut down on the oily words and hot air that habitually stretch minutes into eternities, and subsequently into everyone’s two-hour lunch break.
“Today marks the beginning of a new era in political engagement,” announced Sir Humphrey Babblesworth, MP for the fictional constituency of Wafflington-upon-Dawdle. “No longer will conscientious citizens be faced with the agonizing decision between fulfilling their civic duty and liberating their growling midriffs from the chains of public discourse.”
The initiative, colloquially dubbed the “No More Lunch Ruin-er Act,” introduces radical measures like “Mandatory Sandwich Signals,” where speakers are required to quietly nod to a waiting intern holding a sandwich board cue card five minutes before the lunch bell tolls.
Babblesworth highlights a new pre-speech checklist to determine allowable speech length:
1. **Importance of the Issue**: A scale from “Everyone’s Dying to Know” to “We Didn’t Need to Have This Meeting” gauges necessary detail levels.
2. **Audience Buzz**: Real-time audience sentiment is measured by under-seat buzzers, providing subtle hints to clear the lectern.
3. **Pre-Speech Fuel Gauge**: Attendees must eat a preassigned snack. Anyone reaching below 75% digestion before the finale triggers an automatic cut-off, no exceptions.
Feedback on this initiative has been exuberant. Mrs. Betsy Crumpet, president of the Lunch Liberation Front, stated, “It’s a win for both sanity and sandwiches. I’ve dodged preposterous perorations masquerading as speeches more frequently than potholes down Main Street!”
Not everyone is thrilled, however. Veteran politician Lord Marmaduke Droneburg argued passionately that the initiative stifles political discourse and, more importantly, his right to regale tales of parliamentary triumphs during what he calls “character-building hunger pangs.”
Critics aside, the movement has breeding international interest. Reports suggest French politicians, notorious for prolonged debates over lengthy lunches themselves, have cautiously expressed a willingness to trial dubbed “Dejeuner Diplomacy” strategies.
Ultimately, the success of the initiative will rest on whether voters find the shortcuts to succinctness more palatable than the inexorable endurance of watching speeches grow from a few poignant minutes into sagas more comprehensive than their entreaties to Amazon Prime Customer Service.
For now, a hopeful nation waits to see if the initiative can usher in an age where no one ever must choose again: petitioning a public matter or procuring a petit four. It seems democracy, much like lasagna, works best when it’s layered with enough thoughtful brevity and not left to stew.