Trump Hits New Low With Tom Selleck Quip
Letter from Llanaber
I have to report being gobsmacked by a news item that came through on the village news feed ticker tape this morning. I was lucky to be first to get to the news room as the boss of the village parish council, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim, was having a little ‘zizz’ at her desk and I managed to crawl past without waking her.
The story concerned Mr. Trump’s bumpy ‘zero tolerance’ immigration policy, and the unbelievable ‘sick fest’ cabaret Trump conjured up to counter-balance the appalling worldwide revulsion to it.
The recently abandoned zero tolerance modus operandi was perfectly sensible in my opinion. It was to rip children from the arms of undocumented illegals, throw the parents into chokey, and the kids into cages for a couple of days to scare ‘em up a bit. When they were thoroughly terror stricken they were then scattered across the US to God knows where, never to be found again.
What was wrong with that?
The poor little mites had probably never travelled that much before, and it’d be a nice change for them to eat something other than chili. What’s more, if they landed up being fostered by a white family, they automatically moved several rungs up the social ladder. (The converse for a black one, though – hey, but life’s a lottery, yeah?)
Anyway, the leftie, pinko, live-on-your-knees, thumb-sucking liberal sandals-shufflers around the world all thought it was a bad idea. They don’t want these under-privileged kids to get a better life so they kicked up a fuss.
The upshot was the amber soccer-ball headed Braniac comb-over reacted to quash the bad PR by sending his gastric banded ‘lingerie model potential’ robot faced wife, Melanie down south to pretend she gave a toss. But she screwed up by wearing a jacket with ‘Bugger You, I’m Rich,’ or something similar printed on the back. So the stunt backfired.
‘What to do? What to do?’ thought the President, ‘I know. I’ll dig out a dozen or so ‘active grievers,’ i.e. those that had had their loved once knocked off by those nasty illegals.’
N. B. In his soccer-ball shaped head it is axiomatic that if one illegal is a murderer, they must all be. However, peculiarly, and contrary to Trump’s mathematical predictions, there have been millions of illegal immigrants over the last 20 years but not millions of murders.
Back to the story…
‘Great idea!’ thought the president, ‘I’ll line ‘em up on a stage in front of the world’s press, each holding up a photo of the loved one they lost. Then (and here’s the bit that gobsmacked me) I’ll start passing comments about the pictures while signing them!’
What a PR triumph.
It was reported on the ticker tape that he commented about one victim’s picture, and here I quote verbatim:
"This is Tom Selleck, except better looking. Right? Better looking."
What a guy! The family of the deceased gentleman concerned must have gone away from the ‘sorry for your loss / I’ll pretend to give a toss’ PR stunt much more able to cope with the grieving process knowing their murdered son / brother / husband or whatever, bore a passing resemblance to a bit player in ‘Friends.’
I just wonder what other comments the president made that the media were too embarrassed to report. My imagination has conjured up the following comments the Duck could have made;
‘Keep your pictures. I’ve signed them. They’ll be worth something one day.’
‘She’s no great loss with a nose like that.’
‘Is this him without the stab wound in the eye?’
‘You still got other kids, though, right?’
‘He looks a bit Mexican. Was this a gang war thing?’
There were also a couple of other news items that caught my eye. The brain dead ‘sideways glancer’ and angel of death, Jeff Sessions, is doing his best to back track on the zero tolerance undocumented aliens’ kid-caging policy screw up. On a Christian TV show he said, and I quote verbatim:
“The American people don’t like the idea that we are separating families,” he said. “We never really intended to do that.”
… ‘Never really intended?’
So it was all just a mishap, a mistake, an unfortunate misunderstanding by the border guards.
“D’aw shucks! I’ve inadvertently torn that toddler from its mother’s arms and throwed it in a cage! Stupid ol’ me! Whoops! I just gone dun it agin! Better get all these brown liddle’uns on a bus outa town before someone sees I dun screwed up!”
It got better.
I read a piece about the fun balloon, inflatable mouth and restaurant evictee, Sarah ‘Huckleberry Hound’ Sanders. It read as follows:
‘White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders also used the Bible to defend the administration’s policies, telling reporters: “I can say that it is very biblical to enforce the law. That is actually repeated a number of times throughout the Bible.”’
I think she may have failed to realize that there are a lot of things in the bible, and some of them aren’t very nice. Let me suggest a few that the Trump administration would do well to take note of (and make sure the mental sideways-glancer doesn’t see these in case he starts quoting them, eh?)
Rev 21: 8 "Liars--their place will be in the fiery lake of burning sulfur. This is the second death."
Isaiah 13:9–16 NIV "See, the day of the Lord is coming — a cruel day, with wrath and fierce anger. . . . I will put an end to the arrogance of the haughty. . . . Their infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes; their houses will be looted and their wives violated."
Eternal damnation for lying?
Bad news for the haughty?
Watch out Donald!
My personal favorite is for fun-bag Sarah herself:
1 Timothy 2:12 “I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent.”
For a closer on this, Mr. Trump’s US administration must be scrabbling around trying to formulate a new ‘user-friendly’ immigration policy to replace the failed zero tolerance debacle. Can I suggest the team all bear in mind the quote below whilst doing their brainstorming:
Luke 18: 16 – “But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.”
It doesn’t mention shoving them in cages, does it?
That’s it for now.
We've uncovered another Letter from Llanaber:
‘Human Misery Parade’ PR Stunt Attempt to Offset Bad Press
I suspect that the boss of Llanaber parish council, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim has ‘cottoned on’ to my ploy to censor the news by tearing out great lumps of ticker tape from the parish office’s news feed before Mrs. T sees them. I was busy ‘censoring’ this morning, completely absorbed in my work, when the door of the ‘coms room’ crashed open. There stood Mrs. T (well, more stooped really. Mrs.T is six feet tall and the ticker tape ceiling is only five feet off the floor). Her new henchman and head of the newly formed village ‘space cadets’ (PETS) Mateo the knife, was by her side. They both glared daggers at me.
Her surprise raid had been too quick for me. Whilst I quickly stuffed the piece of ticker tape I had in my hand at the time into my mouth and started chewing rapidly, Mateo was on me in a flash. His vice like grip ceased my jaws and prized them apart. In moments the snippet of news I was trying to suppress was in my esteemed leader’s hands. Regardless of the saliva she unfurled it and read the story. Her face broke out into a wicked grin. I’d seen that look before. It always spells trouble for the village.
So, what was the news item I had tried to hide from the bandwagon jumping boss of the village council? (I hear you cry). I reproduce the headline to the article for you below:
“TRUMP GATHERS ALIEN-VIOLENCE VICTIMS TO TRASH MEDIA’S SNATCHED BABY BORDER POLICY COVERAGE”
The article went on to describe the utterly crass and cringe-worthy PR stunt pulled by the amber faced anorexia denier in which he lined up a group of US citizens who had all suffered bereavements through illegals’ violence and paraded them in front of the world’s media. As if this wasn’t offensive enough, it was reported that he then started going along the line hugging them one by one. The article makes no mention of whether or not any of the poor citizens were dribbled on (as per Kelly Craft) and subsequently vomited.
“Nice try, weasel-pants!” Mrs. Trim barked at me. Then she turned to Mateo and whispered in his ear. I feared that instructions for a new ‘hush hush’ special project were being given to the ex-Spanibont boss of the rowdies. It didn’t take long before my rears were confirmed. Moments after Mateo ran from the room Mrs. T turned to me and yelled, “You! Short-house! Run and get your camera!”
I was ordered to summon up the world’s press, gather them in the village church hall and await further instructions.
“Why?” I foolishly asked.
“For a world expose,” she said (I think she meant exposé).
Before I could once again explain to the old bat that as far as Llanaber was concerned, unless a nuclear bomb landed here, the worlds’ press is not in the least bit interested she had turned on her heels and gone.
I did as I was ordered. I hung around with my camera in the village church hall trying to look like a crowd of news hungry media hounds. In about an hour Mateo turned up, pushing in front of him a befuddled bunch of villagers. They were all what we refer to in the village as ‘out of datecoders.’ (Senior citizens to you).
The poor addle-brained old codgers were pushed, threatened, cajoled, bullied, and eventually physically lifted and carried onto the small stage at the back of the hall. As soon as they were in something that resembled a straight line, Mrs. T appeared, wearing her official garb and carrying a megaphone. She stepped onto the stage and turned to face the media pack (me).
Despite the fact that I was standing less than three feet away from her she started yelling at me through the megaphone. I repeat what she yelled for you below verbatim:
“Thank you for coming at such short notice, you scumbag fake news pedaling, lying bunch of left wing subversive establishment tools. For once I have a story that is real news! You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, it’ll change your life. You see standing loosely in a line behind me a picture of human misery. These people have all suffered. How, I hear you cry? I’ll tell you. They have suffered the humiliation and ignominy of having the proverbial piss ripped out of them by those ruffians, the rowdies from Spanibont… And when I say ruffians I am, of course, meaning potential rapists, drug dealers, and rapists! Not to mention the drug dealing.”
It was only then I notices the poor old buggers were each holding up a placard, breakfast cereal boxes turned inside out, on which various messages had been written using Mrs. T’s crimson lipstick.
Mrs. T turned round and barked at the old duffers, “Hold your cards up for the press you clapped out old gits!”
This they duly did.
I read the first few then lost heart. Whilst it was undoubtedly the truth that was written on these placards it was of no interest to anyone else in the world but the specific ‘auld’un’ themselves. I reproduce for you a few examples of what was written on the placards:
‘They took the rise out of my speedos!’
‘When I was fogbathing in my bikini they said I looked wrinkly.’
‘They said I wasn’t worth the effort of kicking sand in my face.’
‘They said my knees were more knobbly than Dai’s scabby donkeys’’
‘One of them asked for a lick of my ice cream.’
‘I’d forgotten who I was and they wouldn’t tell me.’
Mrs. T stepped forward till she was inches from my face then yelled into the megaphone, “Stick that in your newsletter, slimeball!”
I think my esteemed and completely mental leader’s plan is to have a good news story like the suffering of these poor old idiots as a counter balance to the bad press following the bad press that followed the ‘old Thomas in a cage’ debacle, and the ‘jocular trousers slogans’ scandal.
Let’s hope the wizard of PR coups in America, Donald Trump, has more success with his nauseating ‘parade of the suffering’ than Mrs. T is likely to have with her effort. I should think so. He’s the master when it comes to judging the mood of his people and what the right thing to do is to get public opinion on his side.
Did I hear his gastric banded ‘lingerie model potential’ wife, Melanie, goes to bed in ‘onesie jim-jams’ with the slogan ‘Black Lives – Who Cares?’ printed on them? (A gift from her husband’s KKK supporters). Or is this more scumbag media fake news?
That’s it for now.
And here's a bonus letter:
Sarah Sanders Ejection from Restaurant Impacts Llanaber
Bad news! The boss of the parish council in Llanaber, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim, has worked a flanker on me. She has had builders in overnight and knocked the wall through from her office into the news feed ticker tape room, A door has been erected so she can come and go from her office into the ticker tape room whenever she wants.
Further, she has had the existing door bricked up! This means that the only access to the news ticker tape feed is through Mrs. Trim’s office. In my opinion this is another step towards North Korea style totalitarian control of information into the village. She has long been an admirer of the cheese-ball headed anorexia denier and Braniac, Donald Trump, but of late, both have turned their admiration and envious eyes towards regimes in the east.
Whilst Mr. Trump hasn’t yet said in public of both Russia and North Korea ‘at least the trains run on time,’ he has chosen to turn a blind eye to human rights and freedom of speech issues in both these countries.
In recent assertions he has proved he is an overt admirer of 'Chinaman' Kim’s control of the North Korean media. If America isn’t on the ball then it won’t be long before the US too will have Kim style little lists of ‘do’s and don’ts’ rules (e.g. DO clap like a gibbon and anything that comes out of my big fat mouth including a burp, and DON’T think I won’t have you, your friends, and your family fed through a mincer if you fail to worship me down to my last dottle.)
That’s all well and good for the super-states, but what if totalitarianism takes hold here in Llanaber?
Is something giving you cause for concern? (I hear you ask).
Yes. Let me fill you in with the circumstances.
When I tried to sneak past my esteemed leader this morning to get to the ticker tape machine, Mrs. T was sitting at her desk, her nose buried in a string of tape. I was almost past her and into the ticker tape room when she grabbed me by the arm and pushed me onto the tiny stool in front of her desk. (FYI – Mrs. T likes to play power games with people that visit her office. To this end she has replaced the standard chair with a milking stool ‘Dai the Sheep’ uses when his ewes are lactating. When you sit on it you can’t see over the top of the desk).
“You!” she barked down at me, “What do you make of this?”
Moments later the string of tape she was reading fluttered down onto my lap. I read the news item covered. My heart sank. I knew what was coming next. ‘Events’ had happened yesterday in the village and old Mrs. Winfrey, the official village gossip, was quick to collar me as I cycled in to work to tell me the story. Admittedly she got it completely wrong as usual, but I ‘got the gist’ from what she said. What the old windbag and sticky-beak told me was as follows and I repeat it verbatim:
“Did you hear that Leonard (Mrs. T’s husband) was thrown out of Trevor ‘the Trots’ Trattoria last night for being an undocumented illegal space invader and smearing unidentified Russian substances on Trevor’s toilet door?”
The actual news was something entirely different, of course, but I could see the relevance to the incident with Leonard in Llanaber, and the article Mrs. T had just given me. The news item was about the White House Press Secretary and inflatable fun balloon, Sarah Huckleberry Hound Sanders. She claimed to have been thrown out of The Red Hen restaurant in Lexington, Virginia on the grounds that she occasionally worked for Donald Trump. Stephanie Wilkinson, the owner of the café was quoted as saying, “I would have done the same thing again. We just felt there are moments in time when people need to live their convictions. This appeared to be one.”
Mrs. T stood up, so she could see me.
“This sort of thing is anti-democratic!” she shouted at me, “And I’m not having it!”
I pointed out that Lexington, Virginia isn’t anywhere near Llanaber so out of her jurisdiction. It isn’t even in Gwynedd county, or Wales, or Britain.
“I know that, you dolt!” she bellowed, “I’m referring to what happened in the village to poor old Leonard yesterday.”
She went on to tell me the story about Leonard, which was as follows.
Yesterday Mrs. T’s blubby-hubby, Leonard, broke the scales in the village chemist’s shop. That morning before he took his morning constitutional (his walk next door to buy a cake) he’d struggled to make it into his trousers. Mrs. T had watched him unsuccessfully wriggling for twenty minutes, gave him a 20p coin and ordered him to get his enormous lardy butt down to the chemist’s shop to use the public scales.
“I want to know the truth!” she barked at him. (He’d been telling her he was fifteen stone since their engagement forty years ago).
Unfortunately, the chemist’s shop scales only go up to thirty stone. When Leonard stepped on, the spring flew out and ruined a display of suppositories.
Mrs. T went ballistic when Mrs. Walgreen, the old girl that owns the chemist’s shop, started demanding money from the parish council to fix the broken scales.
She barked at Leonard, “As of now you’re on a low carbs, low fat, no alcohol, tissues only diet!”
It is a matter of record that in the last thirty years Leonard hasn’t gone without food for more than six minutes. Even when he goes to bed he has a tube in his mouth connected to a vat of chicken fat so he can snore and swallow at the same time.
There is only one business in town that can be remotely classified as a restaurant, Trevor’s Trattoria.
Under normal circumstances Trevor ‘the Trots’ cafe is ‘out of bounds’ for Leonard. It only opens from ten in the morning till noon, after which it closes for lunch for the rest of the day. Leonard is normally working in Mrs. T’s sweet shop then. But, due to acute pain brought on by hunger pangs, Leonard ‘bunked off work’ and went across the road, avoiding the massive sink hole, to partake of Trevor’s ‘all you can eat spaghetti buffet.’ (FYI- This is just spaghetti).
I’m sure, dear reader, you can fill in the gaps yourself, but suffice to say, Trevor watched as the fat glutton wired into the buffet and hoovered the place clean of food. No one else in the restaurant got a look in. Once Leonard had cleaned up the buffet he then started scraping the food off the plates of the only other diners in there, a Mexican family on a camping holiday.
Trevor could stand it no longer.
He bundled the fat glutton out of his restaurant, and slammed the door closed behind him. Trevor then apologized to the Mexicans saying, “I would do the same thing again. I just felt there are moments in time when people need to live their convictions and bundle fat pig-monsters like him away from the ‘all you can eat’ section of my cafe. This appeared to be one.”
This brings me to my point.
At the next parish council meeting, Mrs. T intends to put forward a motion to impose tariffs on pasta products brought into the village for resale to the tune of 1,000,000%. This would put poor old Trevor out of business, for sure.
In 1867 John Stuart Mills famously said, “Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.”
How right he was.
I believe I am a man of principle, a ‘good man.’
Even if I stand alone in the council chambers, I will vote against this wicked, petty and punitive motion Mrs. T intends to have enacted in the village, its sole purpose to ruin another ‘good man’s’ business. In years to come I will, with a clear conscience, look my Grandchildren squarely in the eye and tell them ‘I did my bit’ to stem the rise of totalitarianism in Llanaber.
It helps that Trevor’s offered me a bung in the form of free goes at his lunchtime buffet for life if I stop the old cow from doing it.
That’s it for now.
Photo by Dominick D + https://www.flickr.com/photos/idominick/15414413690/ || CC-BY-SA 2.0