Putin Nuclear Summit In The Cards
Letter from Llanaber
There is a person currently holding high office that has self-delusions of such titanic proportion it is a potential threat to world peace. I do not refer in this case to the boss of America, Donald Trump. This is despite his declaration following the briefest of unstructured conflabs with the fat lad who’s the boss of North Korea, 'Chinaman' Kim, that there was now no longer a nuclear risk from that country.
His subsequent triumphantly bragnificent tweet read, and I quote verbatim:
“There is no longer a Nuclear Threat from North Korea. Everybody can now feel safer than the day I took office.”
How true this is.
The difference between the last President, Barack Obama, and the incumbent, Donald Trump, goes beyond intellect and temperament. The two men are like chalk (no offence intended) and cheese.
Obama would never dream of pressing the big red button without going through the pro’s and con’s then analyzing all the consequences. Then, and only then would he commit the US to a retaliatory nuclear response and only as a last resort after all other conciliatory avenues have been exhausted.
On the other hand, Trump, a thin-skinned narcissist, would launch a nuclear attack on anybody that even so much as hinted that his gastric-banded wife was looking like she’d ‘put on a bit of holiday weight.’
So, which one makes you feel safer, Obama the intellectual or Trump the nut job? (where have I heard that phrase before).
Obviously the latter.
Why? Think back to your school days and all will become clear.
Say, for example, there are two boys in your class. Both are the same build but one is a bookworm and the other is a red neck on a hair trigger. It’s your turn to buy the class’ bagful of recreational drugs. Who do you take with you to do the trade with the bad boys on the corner, ‘Speccy-Brainbox’ or ‘Mungo the meat-hammer?’ Which do you think would make you feel safer having alongside you when money changed hands?
I rest my case.
I digress. I was talking about a self-delusionary person in high office. I refer, of course, to none other than Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim, the boss of the parish council here in Llanaber. She is still fuming after being made to look a chump by Donald Trump in his double-shuffle regarding the renting of the room above her shop for his tryst with Chinaman Kim. She has a long memory and bears grudges.
Revenge is a dish best enjoyed cold and revenge was very much on the menu during the parish council meeting last night. This is where the self-delusionary element comes into my story. Mrs. T genuinely believes she can ‘put one over’ on Donald Trump. She has every intention of working a reverse double-flanker on the boss of America, and has even worked out a plan. Unfortunately it is a plan that puts me at the center of a little vignette that could trigger world war three.
Let me ‘fill you in.’
Mrs. T has cottoned on that Mr. Trump may be a little on the vain side. The blonde comb-over and Braniac is crowing from the rooftops about how smart he is for ridding the Korean peninsula from the threat of nuclear weapons before any have actually been removed, and without realizing this also includes the US nuclear threat to North Korea. In effect Trump has agreed with Kim Jong Un to rid the US of nukes.
As such Mrs. T believes that if Trump is so dumb he can’t see what he’s done, and so vain he needs something to crow about every now and then, she can easily fool him into trying to pull off the same trick with Vladimir Putin.
To this end she has instructed me, as parish Foreign Secretary, to write fraudulent letters to both Trump and Putin separately. I am to tell each that the other is seeking a conflab in a bid to secure bi-lateral nuclear disarmament between Russia and the US. Each will no longer be a nuclear threat to the other, and both men will emerge from the meeting as mega-heroes in the eyes of the world.
Which of these two humble peace-seekers could refuse this win-win offer?
I have been tasked to draft out two letters, one pretending to be Trump, and the other Putin. I have to have both letters on her desk for her approval before close of play tonight, then have them in the post first thing tomorrow morning.
This is not a task in which I would wish to be complicit. If the ruse works and these two Ego-mountains meet, fine. But what if they start spitting at each other? Who knows what the consequences might be. Nevertheless it has fallen to me to do this and I’m nothing if not professional.
So, here goes:
Letter no. 1:
“President Donald Trump
Boss of America
Dear President Putin,
May I call you Putty? You’ve no doubt seen how smart I am (on the TV etc. - assuming your backward little country has TV by now). I’m talking here about me and that fat kid from North Korea, Kim something or other. I got rid of all his bombs including the nukes just by letting him appear to be a pal of mine. He’s a big headed chap (literally) therefore easily manipulated by a great guy and Braniac like me.
I want to do the same with you, Putty.
How about we meet? Let’s say, in the room for rent above Mrs. Trim’s sweet shop in the high street in Llanaber, next Tuesday at 2pm.
Mrs. Trim is a wonderful cook and I’m sure if I ask nicely she’ll bake a batch of her magnificent commemorative airy-fairy cakes especially for the occasion. They’re also terrific value at $100 each.
So, is it a date, Putty?
Yes, of course it is!
See you there (perpetual fog permitting)
P.S. Don’t bring the wife* and we can pull some of the local maidens and paint Llanaber red, eh?”
*(Pardon my clumsiness – are you married? I always suspected you had a bent towards the DUB side of the sexual spectrum, all that bare-chestedness and bear wrestling etc.).”
Letter no. 2
“President Vladimir (Vlad the Lad) Putin
Boss of Russia (and anywhere else I take a fancy to)
Dear President Trump,
May I call you (let me refer to my notes here, Donald John Trump, the 45th and current President of the United States, in office only since January 20th, 2017)… New boy!
We’re two fantastically great alpha-males, aren’t we? You’ve got big hands, I’ve got big hands. How about we shake them eh, blondie? Let’s say we meet and ‘talk the big talk’- and I’m not talking the size of our dicks here, I’m talking NUKES!
Let’s knock heads together in the room for rent in that beautiful Babushka Mrs. Trim’s little sweet shop in the high street in Llanaber. I’m free next Tuesday at 2pm. How about you?
You know you want to. So I’ll see you there, you big old Silverback!
I’m already looking forward to stripping off, oiling up and rolling on the floor with you in a grapple.
До скорой встречи. (see you later)
P.S. How’s about bringing some hot US crumpets for afters? The Russian ones are so cold.”
I think I may be able to fool Mrs. T with this drivel but I’m not sure about Putin. As for Trump, I can already hear the cheque for the $25 winging its way to Llanaber as I write.
That’s it for now,
Photo by Kremlin.ru || CC-BY 4.0 International