Foul Emissions

Foul Emissions

Thursday

Dear Diary, I'm so worried about my poor dear husband. He's always out of the country, and seems to have lost track of what's going on here at home. Yesterday my poor old Nyamasoya took a delegation of fifty people to Luanda for bilateral talks at a football match. No sooner had he left than the government announced the new Carbon Emissions Tax. Immediately I phoned the Minister Without Energy, King Kong, and asked him to explain what was going on. He said that it's really a Shula Tax, because all the feasting at government banquets had caused excessive foul emissions, especially of methane and hydrogen sulphide, causing a measurable increase in global warming. Following the Copenhagen agreement, the government needs to raise thirty billion a year to pay for these emissions. When I asked him what the thirty billion would be used for, he just laughed, saying it was needed to buy more roast beef and champagne, since the donors were refusing to pay for any more banquets. I'm sure Nyamasoya will stop all this nonsense as soon as he gets back.

Friday

Oh Dear Diary, my dear husband was so tired when he got home tonight he went straight to bed, so I haven't had time to talk to him. He always comes back home so exhausted, I wonder what he gets up to while he's away. I'm sitting on the edge of the bed trying to write this, despite the terrible noise of snoring. I'm also worried that his poisonous carbon emissions will cost the country another billion, and cause enough global warming to melt a polar ice-cap. I don't dare to lie down, he might roll over and squash me. Or I might get caught between two rolls of fat and suffocate. Perhaps I'll be able to tell him about the new Shula Tax at breakfast.

Saturday

Too late, Dear Diary, by the time I got down to breakfast he had already gone off with a party of seventy to Swaziland, to join his friend the king on a hunting expedition. I wonder what sort of hunting they're doing. I hope he still loves me. I'm over twenty now, and he prefers younger women. Even at his advanced age he's still active, and likes to eat fresh fruit everyday.

Sunday

Dear Diary, it's happened again. No sooner had my dear husband gone out of the country than the dreaded King Kong put up the price of petrol by fifteen percent. I'm sure they're plotting to discredit him. He's getting bad advice from all of them. People are muttering that the price hike is needed to pay for all of Nyamasoya's trips abroad. Little do they realise that my dear husband would cancel all these increases if he knew what was going on.

Monday

Dear Diary, it must be a plot to embarrass my dear husband. Last night a mad party official named Thug Chalali tried to disgrace my husband. He went on TV and let fly with such a disgusting and stinking emission that all the studio staff fled, and the TV station was closed down for an hour. He announced that any woman who criticises my husband will be stripped and gang raped in public. See how these idiots and thugs are deliberately trying to disgrace my husband! And my dear Nyamasoya has such a high regard for women. Only last year, when a pregnant woman and her newborn child were left dying on the pavement, he declared that such public agony was obscene, and therefore in future such agony should be kept private. This shows how much my husband is willing to respect the rights of women, and ensure that the brutal violence against women is kept off the streets. Just wait for my husband's return, and he will put matters right and deal severely with this mad Thug Chalali.

Tuesday

Oh Dear Diary, things went terribly wrong when my husband arrived at the airport this morning. As he stepped out of the plane a reporter asked him what he'd been doing in Swaziland, and he said he'd been helping the king select a suitable fourteen year-old virgin as the king's forty-third wife. Then another reporter asked him whether he approved of rape, and he replied that rape is very tasty, and he's always been very partial to rape, and even in Swaziland rape had been on the menu everyday. Then he stepped into another plane, and set off for New York to attend a world conference on women's rights. So you see, Dear Diary, how his advisors must have misled him, telling him that the question was about vegetables. When my dear husband realises what's been going on, he's going to put everything right.

Wednesday

Dear Diary, Last night I had a terrible nightmare. I dreamt that my dear husband had deliberately employed all these thugs and villains as his ministers and party officials, and that he is the one causing the terrible stinking emissions from their foul mouths. Oh Dear Diary, please help me to keep these disloyal thoughts from my head!