Ambushing Bush

Ambushing Bush

          It was Sunday afternoon at State House, and I was having my usual cup of tea with Michael and Christine. ‘Well, Kalaki,’ said Christine, ‘how do you think Michael is doing?’

          ‘I have to be honest,’ I admitted, ‘I’m very disappointed.’

          ‘In what way?’ she asked.

          ‘Because,’ I explained, ‘it’s my job to see the funny side of things, and to make Michael look ridiculous. But he’s always doing my job for me. Everywhere he goes he deliberately says the wrong thing, just to make people laugh.’

          ‘I see your point,’ she laughed. ‘It’s very difficult to make fun of somebody who doesn’t take themselves seriously. Michael is putting you out of a job.’

          ‘And yet he’s the one who’s always talking about creating employment,’ I laughed.

          ‘I don’t understand how you two can sit there talking about me as if I’m not here,’ said Michael gruffly. ‘If Kalaki wants a job I can send him as the new district commissioner for Rufunsa.’

          ‘Not good enough,’ I laughed. ‘I want your job!’

          ‘Ha ha!’ laughed Christine, ‘that’s a good idea! We’ve got that awful George Bush coming later this afternoon. Let Kalaki be the president for this afternoon! Then we’ll find out if he can be more ridiculous than you!’

          ‘He’ll know I’m not the president!’ I laughed.

          ‘Him!’ laughed Christine. ‘He doesn’t even know which country he’s in!’

          ‘I was planning a real star performance,’ Michael protested.

          ‘Stop trying to hog the limelight,’ said Christine severely, ‘and give Kalaki a chance. Anyway, you’re not supposed to spending all your time on these silly ceremonials. You’re supposed to be thinking up some serious policy. The whole nation has been waiting for months to hear your new employment policy, but all they get from you is more ministerial reshuffles, new districts and silly jokes!’

          So Christine and I left Michael thinking about employment, and set off to meet George the Second. When we got to the front door we found the American Ambassador, Supercilious Spaghetti standing there as if he owned the place. ‘I’m afraid you’ve got to wait,’ he said with a slimy smile, my president is running late.’

          ‘I’m the president, not him,’ I snapped. ‘I can’t be kept waiting by a mere former president. If I had known he was going to be late I would have sent somebody else. And anyway, what’s an Italian immigrant like you doing here posing as the American ambassador? Don’t you have any native Americans to run the government?’

          Christine whispered something in my ear, as the salivary smile disappeared from the face of the Italian mafia. ‘Yes, I know that,’ I replied loudly to Christine, ‘they massacred all the American natives and now the country is run by foreigners.’

          As I was talking a massive black armoured car, about thirty metres long and flying a huge American flag, drew up in front of the portico. Out stepped a wrinkled eagle with a beak instead of a nose, wearing faded blue jeans and a check shirt. He was followed by a bright eyed little hen, to whom he turned and said ‘My my, Laura, look at this cute house, just like my Grandma Martha’s little house on the prairie. Ah’m mighty pleased to be visiting this little country of Gambia, and spreading liberty and demarhcracy everywhere…’

          Quickly Mr Slimy Smile moved forward to shake George’s hand, hissing ‘Zambia, Mr President, you’re in Zambia. Gambia was last week. Let me introduce you to the His Excellency the President of Zambia…’

          The eagle stepped up to me and caught my hand in his claw, like a vice, and started pumping my arm up and down as if he was trying to pump blood out of my mouth, all the while talking and suffocating me with his bad breath  ‘Ah sure ahm pleased to meet the Prezdent of Samoa…’

          ‘Zambia,’ insisted Slimy Smile.

          ‘Wherever,’ said George the Second. ‘Ah’m sure the Prezdent knows where he is, even if the rest of the wurld don’t. Ah just came to say we Amairicans are so pleased to have brought you the gift of demarhcracy, just as we brought it to Eye-Rack…’

          I stamped on his foot and he finally let go of my right hand. ‘I saw what you did to Eye-Rack,’ I screamed, as I nursed my crumpled hand, ‘So you can take you demarhcracy, stick it up your exhaust pipe and take it back to Washington.’

          ‘Aarrgh!’ screamed George the Second, ‘This is not a friendly country! This must be Zimbubwee, this man is Mahgabby! Let’s get out of here!’ So saying, the eagle and his hen jumped back into the tank and went screaming up the drive, tyres screaming, sirens wailing and guns blazing.’

          We found Michael sitting where we had left him. ‘You’re soon back,’ he said, ‘what happened, what was all that noise?’

          ‘The A-Team left in a hurry,’ I said. ‘They didn’t appreciate my sense of humour.’

          ‘The way they left,’ said Christine, ‘I think Kalaki may have started a war!’

          ‘At least that’ll solve the unemployment problem!’ said Michael.

          ‘What!’ we both shouted. ‘Are you serious?’

          ‘Just joking,’ said Michael.