Friday, 22 April 2016
The Man who would be Queen
I see the man who wasn’t going to intervene has intervened. And he chose the Queen’s birthday to say that her days and those of her ilk are numbered. Can we get a big slow hand clap for Barry over here? Over here; what is that fool doing over here? While some are enraged by his interfering comments, many of just sigh as we hear and see yet another tool of the establishment doing what the establishment expects him to do. ‘Leader of the free world’? Obama is no more a leader than one of the Queen’s corgis; a lap dog for Europe, rolling over to have his tummy tickled.
‘Twas ever thus. One reason the president’s past is shrouded in mystery is a long line of faddish policy changes and kow-towing to the real powers behind the American throne. Sovereignty outdated? Only because you crave it but you can’t have it, pal. I wonder how much people like this are really paid to do and say things that ordinary folks hold in such contempt. Anyway, his time is over and soon he will be replaced by another willing dupe or democrat – same thing – who will do her best to emulate sovereignty while wishing the demise of others. Barry will be free to pursue other ‘interests’ and go where the wind blows him.
Talking of which as a follow up to Dreams From My Father, there are plans to release a memoir penned in honour of his mother and much speculation has arisen as to the revelations and juicy secrets contained therein. One such is the tale of the day he came out...
While in college the young future president had set out to experience all that life had to offer and his search had led him to try a wide range of sexual practices. During this exploration of self and others he had eventually decided he was gay; well, it sounded such fun. After a few exploits with other such broad-minded young liberals he decided to try another life-shaping experience, take the plunge and tell his mother. He found her, as was usual, in the kitchen cooking dinner.
Sitting at the kitchen table he let out an exaggerated sigh, and said: "Mom, I have something to tell you - I'm gay.” The temperature fell a few degrees and time stood still. His mother made no reply or gave any response save stiffening for a second after which she continued stirring the pot. The kitchen clock re-started and ticked loudly. An awkward silence reigned for a few moments and Barry cleared his throat, about to repeat his admission. Before managed to say another word his mother turned to him. “So, now you’re gay?” she asked and Barry nervously affirmed his predilection.
His mother turned back to her cooking. She stared into the pot of stew and continued stirring, then beckoned him to come closer. She held out the spoon for him to taste in a gesture of matronly understanding and Barry, understanding the ceremony of the moment duly took a taste. She turned to him. “So, you, what, make out with other guys?” He nodded, a little bashfully. She continued probing: “You put your thing in their... you know?” He nodded again. “And you put their thing in your mouth?” Again he nodded, whereupon his mother whirled around, whacked him hard over the head with the spoon and yelled, "Don't you EVER complain about my cooking again!"