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Disturbing Treatment Of Escorts By ‘Boss’ Leads Buttprint Removal From Hall Of Fame

Disturbing Treatment Of Escorts By ‘Boss’ Leads Buttprint Removal From Hall Of Fame

Letter from Llanaber

...Global politics seen through life in this strange tiny village in West Wales...

Through the centuries Llanaber has been the birthplace of many great men and women. For example, in 1867, a technique for the colouring of cloth made from sheep’s dottle was invented by ‘Dai the Dye.’ Later in 1906 the idea of using a strip of wood to decorate a wall was invented by another of our villagers, ‘Dai the Dado.’ The sheer genius of combining both these discoveries to produce a coloured strip of wood to decorate a wall was invented by Dai the Dado’s son, ‘Dai the Dado Dyer.’


Where is this drivel leading us? (I hear you cry).


It is this.


Each and every one of our ‘villagers of note’ has his or her name commemorated in perpetuity in our village. This is done by means of the hero in question’s making his or her butt print (pants off) into wet cement in the patch of ground beside the bus stop in the high street officially designated as the ‘Llanaber Butt of Fame’ Memorial Garden.


The same honour and privilege is extended to all holders of the office ‘Boss of the Parish Council’ whether they are on the left, right or centre on the political spectrum. 


The current holder of this office, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim, is no exception. In fact it was I myself that officiated at her ‘butt-dipping ceremony’ where, in front of a crowd totalling over fifty villagers (She subsequently claimed it was over 57 million, the largest crowd gathering in history), she dropped her voluminous undergarments, lowered her posterior and ‘dipped’ for posterity.

 


We’re still none the wiser (I hear you grumble).


I will get to my point in a moment, but first you need to know more about the Llanaber Butt of Fame. 


There is an old bird that lives at the edge of the village called Myfanwy Plop. There has been a Plop in the village since its inception when ‘Plop the Dozy’ and his stone-age family dug a hole and started sleeping in it with their sheep 8,000 years ago. Because of the kudos that goes with being a family descendant of the village’s founder member, special rights and privileges are assigned as a birth right. One of these is being ‘Keeper of the List.’ This is a hereditary position handed down through the centuries, oddly enough, from Mother to Daughter.

Myfanwy Plop is the current incumbent.


Yes, but what the hell is this about? (I hear you now screaming).


The ‘Keeper of the List’ is the one person in the village that has the power to remove a butt print from the Llanaber Butt of Fame patch!


There you have it!


Or have you?


I think I missed the key point which is this.


There is turmoil in the village because Myfanwy Plop has removed the butt print of Mrs. Trim from the Llanaber Butt of Fame patch!


Why? (I hear you ask in a more temperate voice this time).


I will reproduce for you the statement Myfanwy Plop issued when she announced that Mrs. Trim’s butt print was to be dug up and cast into the sea:

 


“I, Myfanwy Plop, have adopted a resolution to remove Council Boss Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim’s ass-print from the Llanaber Butt of Fame Memorial Garden (the patch of grass beside the bus stop in the high street), due to her disturbing treatment of male ‘escorts’ and sausage hiding cabaret artists, and other actions that do not meet the shared values of the village and the county... P.S. her enormous butt print takes up too much space anyway… P.P.S. She’s a ratbag!”
I for one was not surprised. There has been enmity between these two ladies since they were toddlers and Mrs. T. bashed Myfanwy over the head with her rattle and stole her bottle of sheep’s milk.


But why now?


Myfanwy was magnanimous enough in the first place to allow Mrs. Trim to ‘dip the butt’ as we refer to it.


I had to know what was behind the sudden decision by Mrs. Plop to scupper Mrs. Trim’s dreams of immortality, i.e. having her ass-print forever on view to the world at large. I took a long lunch break and nipped out of the office and went to see Mrs. Plop at her home inside the disused nuclear fallout shelter just inside the parish limits south of the village.


As usual, she greeted me affably and invited me in for a cup of tea and a ‘good gab.’ However, when I touched on the subject of her decision to dig up Mrs. T’s rump-print, her face hardened. Her manner became condescending and aloof, bordering on snotty.


“Is there no one in the village that will take a moral position on this woman, this stain on our values?” she said, “Even the effete wet, liberal, live-on-your-knees, sandal-shufflers of West Hollywood have had the balls to do something as a gesture of their disgust at their comb-over cretin, Trump.”


She went on to tell me that the City Council there was considering adopting a resolution to urge the Los Angeles City Council and Hollywood Chamber of Commerce to remove President Donald J. Trump’s star from the Hollywood Walk of Fame, due to his disturbing treatment of women and other actions that do not meet the shared values of the City of West Hollywood, the region, state, and country.


“It’s a bit wishy-washy, though, isn’t it?” I said, “… Rather too many ‘urges’ and ‘considerings.’”
“It’s easy to sneer at others others for their actions but what about you? Where’s your balls in all of this?” she said, wagging an accusing finger in my face, “You are the village Foreign Secretary for Chrissakes!”

 


“… And Anti-corruption and Nepotism Tsar,” I added meekly.


She then went on to list the many sins Mrs. Trim has been accused of committing since she took office in 2016. At the conclusion of her tirade she abruptly stood up and shouted in my face, “Why haven’t you stopped her yet?”


She was right.


I was a powerful member of the governing body of the village. Our leader was, and is, out of control. Life gets worse for the village in general and for me in particular every day.


I felt a wave of guilt for my inaction breaking over my head.


I suddenly felt angry at myself.


I should have started a coup!

 


I should have gathered strong allies and like-minded influential people around me then seized power by force.


Right is might, and right will prevail!


There was fire in my belly as I rose to leave her home. I shook the old dear firmly by the hand and turned to leave. It was then that I noticed the photographs mounted in a glass case in the corner of the room.


“Is this your family?” I asked as I moved closer to take a better look.


The old girl shuffled uncomfortably in her carpet slippers and tried to usher me out.


“Well, thanks for calling,” he said as she manhandled me towards the door, but I was determined to examine the pictures more closely. I spun on my heels and the old girl wobbled off in the opposite direction as I stepped over to the glass cabinet.


What I thought I saw, I saw!


There were four photographs in gilt frames standing in a line in the glass cabinet.


I looked at them one by one.


“I recognize him,” I said, pointing at the first photo, “Isn’t his nickname ‘Big Boy’?”


She nodded.


“And isn’t that one nicknamed ‘Wanger’?” I added.

 


She nodded again.


“My Nephews,” she said meekly.


“… And that one? Isn’t that Spanky Dambuster the famous sausage hider and cabaret artist?”


“My Cousin,” she mumbled.


“And the one on the end, that’s Mrs. Clinton from the card shop, isn’t it?”


“My Sister,” she muttered.


There is was, dear reader. 


Myfanwy Plop’s act of removing Mrs. Trim’s butt print was not the start of a revolution at all. It was a tawdry act of revenge.


I can see how the diabolical treatment meted out by Mrs. T. would stick in Mrs. Plop’s craw. All poor old Mrs. Clinton did wrong was to have the gall to stand against Mrs. Trim in the 2016 election. 


But come on! 


Big Boy? 


Wanger? 


Spanky Dambuster?


My fountain of sympathy is definitely dry when it comes to any ills that befall that bunch of butt-fiddlers!

 


I nodded politely to Mrs. Plop and left the house, and within fifteen minutes was back in harness, i.e. at my desk working my tripe out.


Did I learn any valuable lessons from my experience with Mrs. Plop and the Butt of Fame episode? (I hear you cry).


Yes, most definitely.


It is this.


If you’re ever visiting someone’s nuclear shelter, always check out their family photos.


That said, I don’t think it’s a lesson that will greatly affect my future life.


That’s it for now.


Cheerio!

 

 
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