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Wheezy Old Has-Been Presidential Candidate Threatens ‘Bare Knuckle Brawl’ With Incumbent, President Says ‘Bring It On!’

Wheezy Old Has-Been Presidential Candidate Threatens ‘Bare Knuckle Brawl’ With Incumbent, President Says ‘Bring It On!’

 

As Foreign Secretary for the Llanaber village council there are a number of key responsibilities that fall within my purview, not least of these being that of communications. It falls upon me to inform the village of ‘events’ happening in the outside world, and to inform the outside world of ‘events’ happening in the village. In this role I have reported on many occurrences, and it never ceases to amaze me that many major events that happen around the globe are either mirrored by similar occurrences in our quiet little village or they have a direct effect on village life here. This is the case with what I am about to relate to you now. Let me start with what is going on over the pond with our cousins in the United States.

There is due to be an election for the top job in America, that of leader of the free world and commander-in-chief, i.e. for the presidency of the United States. The current incumbent, Donald Trump, will slug it out for the Republican Party. However, it is yet to be determined who will be his key opponent, the nominee for the Democrats. The previous Democrat candidate who stood against Trump in 2016 (and some even to this day insist won!) was ‘crooked’ Hilary (lock her up) Clinton. She is considered now to be too toxic, a busted flush, so will probably not stand.

So, out of the woodwork has slithered a bunch of wannabe nobodies and a few old timers, i.e. bigwig has-beens. The front runner amongst this motley crew is a walking cadaver and ex Veep called Joe ‘space invader’ Biden. Wearing more make-up than a cross-dressing bouncer, Biden recently tottered on stage and declared to an audience of sycophants that he is going to take Trump on in a ‘bare knuckle’ fight.

I personally think this is a misguided call. Biden, probably weighing in at 80lb max dripping wet is no match for the sheer bulk of ‘the duck.’ Trump must weigh in at 500lb at least, of which 300lb alone is his head.

In addition, Biden is scrawny. His only weapons are his two ‘wandering hands.’ The rest of his body is well past its ‘best before’ date. He looks so knackered I doubt his re-sellable internal organs would fetch much more than a few pesos each on eBay.

Trump, on the other hand, has as his secret weapon a coiled mass of golden piano-wire style hair that, once unleashed from his baldy bonce, can stretch up to 4 yards in length. All the cheese ball headed anorexia denier has to do in a bare knuckle fight is to flick his head around towards his opponent. In a whiplash instant, the golden locks would unfurl into a deadly garrote, twisting tightly around his foe’s neck and rendering his opponent completely at the mercy of the self-declared Braniac and prince of the porn star payday.

No contest.

Trump is destined for another four years in the top job.

I now move on to the other side of my communications responsibilities, i.e. what has-been happening here in our tiny village on the west coast of Wales, Llanaber. We too have elections looming in 2020. We too have an incumbent who is a right wing nightmare with a track record of bunging hookers to keep their gobs shut about secret extra-marital bonks, corruption, election fiddling, and much more. I refer to none other than the leader of the Llanaber village council, Mr. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim, or ‘president’ Trim as we all now have to call her if we want to hang on to our jobs.

She will be running for re-election and her campaign is already underway. I personally have received the offer of a bribe from the gangster that runs the village slot machine empire, the ‘beast from the east’ Putin Lotzadosh. The bribe promises me ten free goes on the ‘penny falls’ slot machine in Putin’s arcade on the sea front in exchange for casting my vote for the old cow. I will not take up this offer on principle, and because the machine has-been nobbled. The pennies are glued on!

I am privileged in the village inasmuch as I am entitled to a vote. Voting is restricted here to those who either own a shop in the village high street or run the donkey and bouncy castle concession on the fog-bound beach. This is to prevent any old tosspot from the village queering the pitch by casting his or her vote for some ‘Jonny-come-lately’ that has just breezed into the village and wants to stand for election just because he or she (or one of the other preferred options) might happen to have a doctorate in local government politics and/or a master’s degree in economics. We don’t want that sort coming into power and buggering things up for us councilors that have been working here since pussy was a cat, do we?

But who will be Mrs. Trim’s opponent? (I hear you cry).

Let me enlighten you by bringing you up to speed with recent ‘events.’ But first, a little background information.

Mrs. Trim has stood unopposed as council leader for the last 30 years. However, in 2016 the village was dumbfounded when the old girl who runs the village greetings card shop, Mrs. Clinton, threw her hat into the ring. This was not an unwelcome thing, and all of the villagers voted for her. Mrs. Clinton won the popular vote hands down inasmuch as everyone in the village, with the exception of Mrs. Trim, cast their vote for Mrs. Clinton.

However, the only votes that are counted are those that I outlined above. To say there were electoral ‘irregularities’ would be an understatement. Bribes were offered. Bribes were taken, and Trim won hands down. Her victory was so emphatic that it was obvious that the election had been ‘nobbled.’

A full investigation into the 2016 campaign was carried out by the village top cop, Robert ‘Robbie the Bobbie’ Muller. It was an exhaustive process. It took three long years before an agreement could be reached on the size of his bribe. Once money had changed hands, Muller published a whitewash report called ‘The complete exoneration of Mrs. Trim – she’s totally innocent, honest, I’m not joking.’ To make absolutely sure she was entirely without fault, the whole document was printed in white ink on white paper, then every page redacted by painting each page black on both sides.

Separate to the investigation, Mrs. Trim, a woman with a long memory and a vengeful streak, ran a campaign to blacken the character of old mother Clinton. She is now so toxic in the village there isn’t a snowball in hell’s chance she could ever run against Mrs. Trim, or for any position of authority again.

So, will Mrs. Trim once again run unopposed? (I hear you cry).

NO!

As in America, we have our very own wheezy old ‘no hoper.’ He is none other than Councilor Thomas the Gravedigger (an honorary title – the village has no graveyard). To everyone’s astonishment, the old fossil put his hand up in last week’s council meeting when Mrs. Trim asked if anyone was going to to run against her in the 2020s.

Can you imagine the atmosphere?

The air was electric with tension and anticipation. It was as if time had stopped dead in its tracks.

Nobody moved.

All eyes were on the doddery old fossil as his bony arm reached skyward.

The council chamber fell deathly silent.

You could have heard a mouse fart!

From the far corner of the chamber I saw the massive bulk of Mrs. Trim’s ‘Head of Village Security,’ Mateo the Knife, make a move towards the old duffer, no doubt to bundle him from his chair and take him outside for a spot of ‘re-education.’ But Mrs. Trim held up her hand to stop him, and the huge thug slipped silently back into the shadows.

“So, it’s going to be old Thomas, is it?” said Mrs. Trim to herself, a malevolent grin forming on her face.

Then, turning to Thomas, she barked, “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?”

Old Thomas mumbled something. It was too quiet to pick up what he had actually said, so ‘Binky’ put her own interpretation on what the aging stump of gristle had said.

“Are you challenging me to a bear knuckle brawl? If you are then all I can say is… bring it on!”

With that Mrs. Trim turned and flounced out of the room, leaving the rest of the councilors open mouthed and flabbergasted.

But as soon as the malevolent presence of ‘Binky’ had wafted out of the building, the chamber erupted into rampant cheers and applause. Old Thomas was bundled onto the shoulders of the other members and marched round the chamber by the cheering throng.

It was only later, much later, when things had calmed down somewhat, I had the opportunity to shake the old man by the hand and congratulate him on his bravery.

“Let me be your campaign manager,” I pleaded with him, pumping his hand vigorously, “It’ll be a dirty campaign, no doubt. You’ll need the top brains in the village to fend off the smears, lies and dirty tricks. I promise I’ll have your back against the threats and underhand jiggery-pokery. But I am confident that if you play with a straight bat, and speak truth to power unflinchingly with neither fear nor favor, you will be triumphant in your campaign.”

He looked at me with his washed out grey eyes and said in his shaky, feeble voice, “What campaign? I only put my hand up because I needed to go to the restroom for a pee.”

There is an old Chinese curse that says ‘may you live in interesting times.’

There is an even older Llanaber curse that says ‘may you never throw your lot in with a shagged out doddery old gravedigger that only wants a pee.’

I fear we ARE heading for interesting times here in Llanaber. I will endeavor to keep you posted.

That’s it for now.

Cheerio!

 
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The Pointed Pen: Don't Blame Smart Phones

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