Tags
Boris Johnson, Brexit, Camp David, Donald Trump, European Union, hairstyles, NATO, negotiations, poofs, Prime Minister, Taliban, tush, wankers
The White House recently revealed that President Trump had canceled a secret Camp David meeting with the Taliban, ostensibly because of a Kabul car-bomb that killed an American soldier. Rumor suggested that vicious infighting among Trump’s security advisors might have been the real reason.
Not so. It was an administrative snafu. Camp David had just become part of the Trump hotel empire and new staff confusedly booked the Taliban and UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson for the same weekend.
Trump decided to dump the Taliban. The thing that bugs me about them, he told an aide, they never take their hats off inside. Not a problem with Boris. With that hair, he doesn’t need a hat. Gotta find out about that hair.
Here are a few key excerpts of their discussions:
(At The Front Door)
Boris, Boris. Welcome to Camp Donald. It is indeed a …
I thought this was Camp David.
It is … well … it was. You see, I own it now and I figured it needed a new name. Donald, everybody knows, but who’s David? Maybe from David and Goliath? But then, “Camp Goliath” would have been better than “David.” Majestic and powerful and …
Stupid, defeated, and dead!
What? You mean Goliath was the loser? To a Jew? Big guys are always the winners. I mean, look at me, I’m …
The point is, Donald, it was named by one of your great Republican predecessors, Dwight Eisenhower, for his grandson, David.
With respect, Boris, could you at least let me finish one sente …
Of course! I’m listening.
(At Lunch)
So, now that we’ve agreed to disband NATO, deep-six the European Union, and withdraw from the UN, there’s one thing I’ve been dying to know. How do you get your hair like that? No offense, Boris, but it looks like you just got out of bed.
Curiously, my hair looks just like yours when I get up. I think my silk pillow smooths it out. It takes my stylist nearly an hour to get the just-woke-up look.
Interesting, but, if I can ask, why so scruffy?
Well, a parliamentary democracy is like an eternal boxing match. You fight to keep the opposition off-balance and then you fight to keep your own party members in line. I just had to dismiss 21 members of my own party for voting against my Brexit policy. Really! What a collection of wankers!
Wankers?
I think you call them jerk-offs. But back to the important question — my hair. I’ve got to look like I’m ready for battle any time and — no offense — the bouffant style would make me look like a poof.
Poof?
Pansy. Faggot. Queer.
Jeeeeez. I never thought about that. My base doesn’t go for the pansy thing. What if they thought I was … but naaah, they know I love to grab pus …
Indeed, who doesn’t! Power has its perks!
You bet your tush!
Tush?
Ass!
Ah! Speaking of asses, wait until you hear what the Queen said in …
(At Dinner)
Y’know, Boris, I’ve been thinking about what you said about tossing 21 of your fellow Conservatives out of the party. Maybe I should do that! I mean, we’re a parliamentary democracy, so you’d think I could …
But you aren’t.
How can you say that? We’re the greatest democracy on the face of the earth!
Of course, you’re a democracy, but not a parliamentary democracy.
But we have a House. We have a Senate. When they vote, it’s always against me, but mostly they just sit around playing with their own … come to think of it, they’re a bunch of wankers too!
I think you’ve got it!
So, anyway, how’s all this going to affect Brexit?
Well, it’s going to be tough, but we’ll leave without a deal. Those European Union busybodies, those bloody …
Bloody? You mean you’re literally going to fight them?
No, no, bloody just means … well, in your terms it would be goddam.
What’ll you do about Northern Ireland and Scotland. Won’t there be trouble?
We’ll sort them out, the twits!
Twits?
Idiots.
Boy, you are something else, Boris! How ’bout a toast. To the wankers and poofs and bloody twits and their fat asses, may they rot in Hell.
Indeed, Donald. To the jerk-offs and pansies and goddam idiots and their fat tushes, and ditto to their eternal damnation.
(Together) BY GEORGE, WE’VE GOT IT!
