The boring little asinine analogy for our
current state of mind freely dripped with
wounded indignation on the said occasion.
Shaking in his shoes as if the anger got
away, face a beetroot shade of puce –
reduced to howling threats. He’d been
accused of being out of date, not much
mind you, just a century shy of eleven
years, a decade, the whole of his term
in power. So he lost his cool; the grey,
composed and supposedly dignified
official was revealed for what he really
was – a drooling fool. His rhetoric was
screams of rage. He bounced about on
centre stage, cursing with vehemence.
The polls all say he’s had his day, he’s
dead and gone but won’t lie down and
the stench is appalling; but our Dear
John is clinging on like AIDS. He knows
he’s had the finger but stays in place
making a persuasive case for euthanasia.
© 1 June 2007, I.D. Carswell
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