After Disgraceful Press Conference, Clear Evidence Emerges Putin Is Blackmailing ‘The Boss’
Letter from Llanaber
...Global politics seen through life in this strange tiny village in West Wales...
I am in fear for my life! Entirely by accident I have come into some extremely secret information that, should it ever get into the public domain, will blow the lid off the establishment. It must remain an absolute secret that I am in possession of this material, so, dear reader, ‘mum’s the word.’
Before I tell you what I know, I have to refresh your memory of recent ‘events’ so you can put the secret material that has come into my possession into its proper context.
What recent events? (I hear you ask).
I refer, of course, to the bizarre and inexplicable behaviour lately of my esteemed leader and boss of the parish council, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim.
Specifically, I refer to her open support, going beyond all reasonable boundaries, for the village gangster, the ‘beast from the east,’ Putin Lotzadosh.
You will be aware the ‘slot machine Slav’ is strongly suspected of nobbling the election for parish leader in 2016, skewing the result in favour of Mrs. Trim, and de facto putting her into high office. You will also be aware that he unilaterally and illegally annexed the quicksand ridden swamp village of Bogbourne into his slot machine empire on the grounds he needed it to store his collection of life-sized models of tanks, submarines and missiles.
Despite a mountain of incriminating evidence, including Putin himself openly confessing that he ‘did it,’ Mrs. Trim has steadfastly refused to condemn the man!
Even as I write, languishing in the village clink is none other than Putin’s right hand henchman, Egor Blimic.
Extensive investigations by the village top-cop, Robert ‘Robbie the Bobbie’ Muller, unearthed irrefutable evidence that Egor Blimic was responsible during the 2016 election for circulating vile and defamatory fake emails. These documents, putatively sent to ‘His Holiness the Pope’ by Mrs. Clinton (the old girl that owns the card shop in the high street and Mrs. T’s opponent in the 2016 election), turned out to be nothing more than forgeries made up to look like emails using letters cut out of the disgraceful tug-mag, ‘Maxim.’
The ‘Ruskie Rascal’ has even confessed to this heinous crime. Under interrogation by ‘Robbie the Bobbie,’ Blimic was reported to have said, “So what? Just screwing around with the old sow. No harms is done. Misses Trim lady a shoe-in, anyway!”
There’s even more!
There is a man living at the edge of the village in a disused bus shelter called Alexei Smirnoff (the man, not the bus shelter). He was once Putin’s right hand man in his slot machine empire, but now is a sad, lonely old drunk. Smirnoff was forced to take early retirement suddenly ten years ago due to ill health. His ill health was brought on following a stint of ‘re-education’ by Putin’s thugs, after he was suspected of allowing one of the penny falls slot machines to accidentally ‘pay out.’
What has this to do with anything? (I hear you cry).
It is this.
Last week old Smirnoff gave up drinking his litre of vodka on his breakfast cereal in favour of drinking instead copious amounts of the local brew, ‘journey into space.’ This, as every villager knows, is not a brew best imbibed. Whilst it has a remarkably high alcohol content, it’s really intended for rubbing on donkey saddles to improve the butt grip.
As a result the ‘clapped out commie’ became loose tongued (I don’t mean indiscreet, I mean his tongue literally became loose). As a result his eastern European burr diminished sufficiently that we were at last able to understand the drivel the old fool kept running on about.
It was dynamite!
Smirnoff claimed to have irrefutable evidence that would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Putin was the true source of power in the village. He had not only manipulated the electorate with bribes to put Mrs. T into power, but claimed that the baldy Balkan also had ‘something on her’ so damaging that if it got into the media she would be toast!
In effect, she was nothing more than his puppet!
Smirnoff promised to reveal all at a secret emergency meeting of the parish council set that evening when Mrs. T was scheduled to be absent from duties on an away day junket of ‘fog golf and boozy buffet’ with the boss of the Druids, Benjy Yahoo.
The secret emergency meeting never took place.
Smirnoff never turned up to ‘spill the beans’ to the assembled councillors at the appointed time.
Why? (I hear you ask).
Had the ‘Gorky grass’ lost his nerve?
Was the ‘Murmansk mumbler’ a chicken in bear’s clothing?
No, dear reader, the poor bugger had been nobbled!
No sooner had we left his makeshift bus shelter home than ‘unknown substances’ were mysteriously smeared on his front door. It only took the slightest of touches of Smirnoff’s fingers on his front door knocker to transfer this highly toxic material into the aging Ruskie’s body and totally screw up his digestive system.
As I write, Smirnoff is in solitary confinement in the village hospital restroom, isolation ward. Dr. Mengele has reported that the poor old commie has the worst case of ‘projectile D&V’ he has ever encountered in his career. According to hospital records, Smirnoff has splatted out his bodyweight at least six times since he was contaminated. The stench is horrific, hence the solitary confinement.
Was this an unfortunate illness brought about by too much consumption of the local brew or was this a blatant attempt by Putin to shut him up?
I believe it was the latter, which brings me to the red-hot information that has come into my possession.
You will recall I was the sole representative of the ‘baying pack of news hounds’ at the recent press conference following the top level conflab between Mrs. Trim and Putin Lotzadosh, held on the neutral territory of Putin’s front room.
You will recall that I also acted as interpreter during the one-on-one meeting they had. Something else you may recall is that Putin was watching a DVD in his front room before and after the carousal.
The picture now painted I will proceed with my tale.
As I was strolling back to the parish council offices to write up the press interview as I had been instructed to do by Mrs. Trim, I realised that I had left my favourite stubby pencil in Putin’s front room. I immediately turned on my heels and hurried back through the fog to Putin’s house. There I found the front door wide open. I knocked but there was no reply. So, I decided to take a chance and nip through to the front room to retrieve my pencil. The room was empty, and I found my pencil straight away. Whilst there I cheekily decided to rifle through Putin’s collection of DVDs to see what his tastes were in movies. It was while doing this I came across a clear, jewel case inside which was a DVD with a hand written title in tiny letters.
It stopped me dead in my tracks.
It was dynamite!
I repeat below verbatim what was scrawled on the DVD:
‘Secret Video - Mrs. Trim with two male ‘escorts’ playing the ‘golden shower’ game on Billy-Bob Bobbityboo’s hotel bed (Gwynedd Council – Miss Child-Bearing Hips Event – Rufflotia - 2013).’
I must confess to you that I then did a wicked thing. I slipped the DVD into the inside pocket of my jacket and ran from the house as fast as my stubby little legs would carry me.
I dare not watch what is on this DVD - One cannot un-know what one knows.
I dare not tell anyone in authority about what I have discovered:
The bizarre ‘rubbishing’ of her friend and neighbours…
The bending over backwards to suck up to Putin…
The ‘turning a blind eye’ to all his wickedness…
The constant attempts by her to stymie Robert Muller’s report into the 2016 election irregularities…
All the above can at last now be easily explained. Mrs. Trim is nothing more than the blackmail victim of Putin! As such she is nothing better than a mere puppet put into high office by him for the sole purpose of doing his bidding.
I dare not resume my erstwhile humdrum but happy existence for fear Putin will smear unknown substances on me and I suffer the same fate as poor old Smirnoff, a double ender!
I have gone ‘on the lam,’ (well, my version of it).
I’ve relocated to the back yard to share dog kennel with ‘Comey,’ our Bloodhound (he’s big and faithful, but as dumb as a brick).
I plan to stay hidden till this all blows over.
But just to play safe, I’ve asked the wife to stock up with soft toilet tissue rolls and breath freshening mints (for Comey).
That’s it for now.
Photo by www.kremlin.ru || CC-BY-4.0 International