How did he get elected?

That’s what we non-Americans keep asking as we gape, incredulous, at the odious orchestrations of the Orange Oddball. 

Seriously boorish behaviour verging on the bizarre has become de rigueurand normalised into acceptability.

If He thinks He deserves the Nobel Peace Prize, then, By God,  He Does! 

But he does not get it and complains, in writing, to his Norwegian counterpart. And suggests that because he’s been wronged, the US should take over Greenland – a part of Denmark for 270 years – because He thinks It’s A Good Idea! 

Good Grief!

You would think the ambulances, and the quiet men with the white coats and serious eyes would have arrived by now but, no, it’s just another day in this White House. 

Americans have tended to mythologise their Presidents. George Washington “could not” tell a lie while “Honest Abe” Lincoln was a straight shooter who kept his word. 

You could trust Franklin Roosevelt to get you out of a Depression while the buck always stopped with Harry Truman.

But what was history to make of His Orangeness? 

He could not tell the truth. Nor could he keep his word. But he could be trusted to get you into a Depression and, boy, did he know where the buck stopped! 

The buck didn’t just stop at his purse; it vanished inside as did the gold, the diamonds and the cryptocurrency.

Nor was it done by stealth, subterfuge or secrecy. On the contrary, the corruption was done openly, transparently and quite cheerfully. You might say the dishonesty was blatant as if to demonstrate to the American people that enriching oneself in office was not just the way forward, it was the only way . 

Watching from Shanghai, Jho Low was moved to tears and immediately composed a haiku in praise of Dumpy Don. 

The man’s an original, that’s for sure. 

Donald John Trump just goes ahead and does whatever he likes. He does not seem to care about what people might think. Example: he continues to insist that he won the last election, has shown no contrition over the deadly January, 2021 attacks on the US Capitol, and has pardoned all its criminal offenders since. 

His casual acts of cruelty  are legion, from cutting state-sponsored medical aid to areas that supported him, to interrupting a female reporter who asked a question: “Quiet, quiet Piggy!”

The man seems to have no qualms about inciting violence, actually encouraging police brutality against immigrants in a recent address to New York police. 

And he has a sadistic streak, calling for the “immediate” deportation of 800,000 people  brought to the United States through no fault of their own and who knew no other country other than the U.S. 

That, said the Guardian, “reflects more than just the savage act of a white nationalist.”

All this from a man who sees nothing wrong with accepting expensive gifts from world leaders: a plane from Qatar and, just recently, a gold brick from the Saudis. 

When Joe Biden was in power, the Republicans, referring to Hunter Biden’s businesses,  used to make fun of the “Biden crime family. ” 

Months into Trump’s first year, a senior Republican was asked about Mr Trump’s family and their escapades. 

“At least, he’s doing it openly,” retorted the politician. “He’s not skulking and trying to hide anything.” 

ENDS

Emunicipality had been feeling out of sorts for a while.

For one thing, he was a bit of a pedant and felt his name wasn’t grammatically coherent. If it were, it would be A Municipality. 

It didn’t matter, of course. Actually, it was wholly irrelevant and his owners called him Pal anyway.

The long name? Well, Pal was an emu and his farmer-owners being practical folks, didn’t fuss over classifications – they had other fish to fry.   

They named him Emunicipality. The pun was mildly emusing but Pal was appalled. He suddenly grasped that being an emu wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. 

Worse, he was a Buddhist and rabidly opposed the taking of any life, particularly his own. 

He had only recently twigged on to the peril awaiting him. A cynical pig named Francis Bacon had found out what bacon really meant and realised he was heading into a hambush. And because Pal was a pal, he’d informed  him.  

Pal wished he hadn’t. What’s a neurotic emu to do? 

Sheriff’s Deputy John Keisler was the first to receive a call of the breakout. An agitated voice from Cooper’s Farm agitatedly told him that an emu had busted the joint and flown the coop. 

“Coop,” opined Mr Keisler clearly. “What we have here is a crime. It’s as plain as the nose on your face”   

As he was speaking to the farmer, Keisler was clear. The sheriff’s deputy, one of Florida’s finest with 26 years under his paunch-straining belt, was precise. 

Actually, he was clear about most things including remaining a sheriff’s deputy for the foreseeable future. They lived longer: the Gospel according to Clapton had been very specific about that.  

He’d seen escaped pigs, cows, even a skunk once. But this was the first animal, Keisler, an officer at the St John’s County Sheriff’s Department, wasn’t sure how to pronounce.   

An emu isn’t your average pet. It can grow up to six-feet in height and, with proper diet, can weigh as much as 60 kg. 

It’s also reputed to have a nasty temper and, apparently, knows how to kick. When pressed, it can also achieve speeds of up to 30 miles an hour. 

The intrepid Keisler attempted to secure the beast  but the large bird sneered at all his commands. For good measure, it attempted to cause him grievous bodily harm, kicking him several times and trying to use its large talons.

Finally, it fled on foot. Its flight was logged by the sheriff’s department as “reckless.”

Not to be outdone, Keisler ended up lassoing the emu and then using his handcuffs to secure its legs. It was the first time Florida’s finest had ever cuffed a bird.

“It was fowl, but at least it wasn’t a four-letter bird,” reflected  the demure deputy. 

Needless to say, Emunicipality was not just defiant, he was unrepentant. “There was fight all right but no flight, that was the rub,” brooded the Shakespeare-loving bird sadly.

But he was also a philosopher. “We wing some, we lose some.” 

It might have been the problem. Emus are flightless birds. 

Unlike Florida’s  most famous son who didn’t know the meaning of either word, the state dispensed both justice and mercy in the case of Florida vs Emunicipality. The emu was not injured and was returned to its owner.

In addition, “all criminal charges against said emu were dropped,” the police declared.

ENDS

King Tut was famous for being the only royal burial found intact in modern times. 

That was the extent of his fame unless you included PG Wodehouse’s conclusion that two Tut’s were better than none. It explains why “Tut-Tut” is not unlike “Tsk-Tsk” in being understood as polite  disapproval.

I digress, however. The singular Tut tried to stop ageing and thought he could retard the process  through mummification. 

He couldn’t.

Even so, the idea has persisted.  Even great minds like Rodney Dangerfield have asked their doctors the eternal question: “How do I stop ageing Doc?”  

In Mr Dangerfield’s case, he was handed a gun. 

Perspectives change over time. My nephews generally regard us with pity, wondering how we endured the period B.I.   How on earth did we keep busy in those pre-Internet days?

We did pretty nicely, thank you. The only thing was life got  lived slowly. Certainly, compared to the present day, it seems that life, when I was a teenager, was pretty much in slow-mo.

I was in Lower Six when we got a phone line to the house and finally got a phone. 

That was in 1973 when everything was easier. Your boss couldn’t get to you like they can now with mobile phones and e-mail.

I remember writing real letters to my girlfriend and using the post – now disparaged as snail-mail. 

Entertainment was analog and the television had very few channels. I mean, Sensurround was an event.

The lack of diversion  made many readers among my generation. I mean, libraries were actually used and not just for swotting before exams. My friends and I actually borrowed books for entertainment. 

Does this happen now? There seems to be no need for it with the Internet and the digital age – Google, social media, streaming services and e-books – making it all but redundant. Still, books appear irreplaceable. 

Will some “dinosaur” trends return? Bell bottom trousers, maybe but smoking indoors is unlikely to ever make a comeback.

Dr Mahathir is also unlikely to make a comeback: most people his age were dead at the present time. But there had been advantages to his great age, he reflected. When he was young, for example, history wasn’t taught at school.

Now he is frequently called upon to dispense advice. Which he does, counselling young people to maintain only a small circle of friends. 

The ex-doctor’s advice is grounded in sound law: three out of four murders are committed by people who know the victim.   

As old age becomes the norm, things begin to change. More and more, we listen to people who don’t talk much. 

And, sadly, an affair of the heart in old age is generally a bypass. 

Woody Allen put it starkly: “You can live to be a hundred if you give up all the things that made you want to live to be hundred.” 

I think he’s right. If one gives up booze, bacon and sex, life goes by so slowly that  it feels like one’s living longer. 

Is there sex in old age? Listen to George Burns, 90: “At my age, sex is trying to shoot pool with a rope.”  

But at the end of the day, there is this: Old age isn’t that bad when you consider the alternative.

ENDS