New Mexican President ‘Has Long Name’ Shocker
Letter from Llanaber
Global politics seen through life in this strange tiny village in West Wales...
Gobsmacking news! The failing village to the south of Llanaber, Spanibont, held a snap election yesterday. This is not unusual as the boss of the council there, Niente Niente, is a gangster, and his version of ‘snap’ is when his thugs break the right arm of anyone that has the courage to try to vote against him.
There is only one voting booth and it’s set up in Niente Niente’s office next to his desk. Also, it’s made of glass. The elector enters the booth having first bowed to Niente Niente and ‘kissed his ring.’ Inside the booth one of Niente Niente’s thugs gives the elector the pre-completed polling card with the ‘X’ printed against Niente Niente’s name. The elector then has to bite at the corner of the card to endorse his vote, assuming the elector has any teeth – it’s a failing village and has no dentist. One thing is for sure, if the elector refuses to endorse the card by biting it, he sure as hell won’t have any teeth by the time he leaves the booth.
But this time it was different.
Niente Niente is a recreational drug manufacturer and user. He had a lot left over from a batch he sent to his ‘pals up North in the entertainment industry’ and had a bit of a shindig. As a result, Niente Niente and his thugs were ‘zapped’ at the time the opposition made its move. A ‘free and fair’ election took place, and Niente Niente and his thugs were ousted in a democratic reverse flanker.
At last! A real democracy in Spanibont!
The new boss of the parish council ‘down south’ is a nice old chap called Gabriel Alejandro Fredrico Facundo Emilio Ricardo Thiago Agustin Pablo Estrada (Gaffertape for short). He has promised to ‘clean up their act’ down there. By this I assume he means digging a deeper latrine hole for their human waste (when the wind comes from the south it fair turns my stomach). I’d prefer it if he’d do something about the level of corruption, though. It’s reached epidemic proportions. I will give you an example.
My wife and I took a short break in Spanibont to buy some of the quaint native artefacts they carve to use for the transportation of their recreational drugs. No sooner had we set foot on Spanibont soil when we were accosted by two very large men in police uniforms. They accused us of ‘illegally panting’ and over-use of the Spanibont oxygen reserves. They imposed an ‘on the spot’ fine of everything we had on us, money, clothes, the lot, including the wife’s truss, then simply walked off without even giving us a receipt! We had to make our way back to Llanaber wearing sandwich boards advertising tacos and enchiladas we ‘borrowed’ from a fast food café near the border.
So, there was a spring in my step when I took the ticker tape with this piece of news into my esteemed leader Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim’s office. It was a particularly long string of tape due to Gaffertape’s full name.
But to my surprise she was not cock-a-hoop at the news.
“I know him,” she said, “He’s one of those leftie, pinko, live-on-your-knees, sandal shufflers. You know the sort. They believe in equality, social justice, clean running water and crap like that.”
I urged her to ‘give the lad a chance.’
This she agreed to do and to start the ball rolling she has given me the job of popping down to see him and wish him well in his new job. Whilst there I’ve been instructed to tell him that, at his own expense, he has to build the fence Mrs. T has been asking for along the border that separates out two parishes. I’m to tell him it has to be three feet high and constructed of wood and nails, and must prevent Spanibont rowdies from coming across into our side, but at the same time permit the free movement of sheep.
I have every confidence that Gaffertape will see it from our perspective, do the right thing and raid his hospital’s budget for the funds to build the fence.
I returned to the parish council’s news feed ticker tape room only to discover that Mexico has also had an election. Their new boss, Andrés Manuel López Obrador (AMLO) also has a leaning to the left, so hopefully he and Donald Trump will hit it off. I base my projected optimism on the magnet principle. ‘Like’ poles repel, and ‘unlike’ poles attract. What with Trump’s politics being a few clicks to the right of ‘Vlad the Impaler,’ they should get on like a Casa on fire.
I noticed on the ticker tape that the cheese-ball headed anorexia denier is to meet with his boss, Vlad the Bad in Helsinki, Finland. It said on the news feed it was to be, and I quote verbatim, a ‘one-on-one’ meeting.
My bet is that Putin will be the one ‘on top’ and Trump will be the one ‘underneath.’
Why? (I hear you ask).
Look at their chosen body shapes.
Putin has gone for the ‘short-arse’ body form, i.e. compact, muscular, and agile. True he lacks the mass and in a catch-weight contest like this one, he would seem to be at a disadvantage.
But look at Trump’s chosen fighting shape. He has gone for the high body mass index / man-boobs / extended gut body form etc. This has its advantages, sure. If one of his huge blubbery legs gets across you, you won’t get up in a hurry (my commiserations here go out to his poor wife, robot faced Melanie, and any ‘leg over’ situations she must regularly find herself facing).
Also, Trump has his ‘secret weapons.’ By this I mean, the orange glow to distract an opponent, especially in low light, and the whiplash effect when his comb-over suddenly unfurls when he swings his head about.
But his hands are tiny!
Putin’s hands are like shovels by comparison.
In addition, Putin ‘greases up.’ As if it wouldn’t be hard enough for Trump to get a grip of Putin, try bear hugging that slippery Ruskie once he’s soaked his body in chip oil.
Then there’s the hair. Putin is as bald as a badger’s butt. However, Trump has luxuriant long flowing tresses. It’s rumored that his comb-over, once unleashed, stretches to over twenty feet in length. Once Putin wraps that stuff round his big mitts, Trump’ll be in trouble, big style.
Lastly, Trump is famously clumsy. He once blundered down some airplane steps in Canada and landed lip first on the US Ambassador Kelly Clark’s nose. All Putin has to do is trip him up and Trump would go down like a sack of spuds. Once on his back on the ground, Trump would never be able to get up without four strong men (one in each corner) to help. He would be at Putin’s mercy.
If I was a betting man I would put 20p on Putin to win by a submission.
However, let’s hope the two men don’t fight. Let’s hope these two world leaders just sit and ‘chew the fat.’
But what would the two ‘Kasparovian-strategic-mega-Brainiacs’ find to talk about? (I hear you cry).
Would Putin be giving Trump his next set of instruction on how to screw the West? More trade tariffs, perhaps? The break-up of NATO? A new ‘black lives aren’t worth a toss’ police campaign?
No, dear readers. I know what these two will do. It’s obvious.
They will quietly sit side by side, knees touching under the table, and read a magazine together, taking it in turns to flick over the pages.
Is there a magazine that could hold the interest of these two missile toting monster-egos? (I hear you ask).
Yes. Of course there is.
They will be turning the pages of Maxim magazine and ‘appreciating’ the ladies in its ‘hot’ top 100 list. On completion of their ‘joint exercises’ both men will pick up a box of tissues and go silently into the restroom to relieve themselves of the stresses of their summit carousal.
And good luck to them both.
Better that than the two idiots start swinging punches.
That’s it for now.
Photo by Eneas De Troya from Mexico City, México || CC-BY-2.0