All right, mate. There’s good news.
You’re getting deported?
No, no. Nothing like that. The good news is that since I’ve recently discovered I can fire you at will, you have to be more respectful toward me.
No-can-do, Buster. This column relies entirely on me calling you a wanker week in and week out. If I can’t do that. I guess we’re done here… so, in a sense, good news indeed. But this dumpster fire of a commonwealth has been a fire-at-will state since forever, so how come you’ve only just been apprised of this little nugget?
From our esteemed governor.
You may be the first person in the state of Kentucky to have learnt anything other than how to behave like an oafish boor from that twat. No wonder you were so keen to “joke” endorse him last time we did this. However, nobody reads this for your input, so it’s only me who can give you your marching orders. Capisce?
Fair enough. I’ll give you another chance. I do love this spat between Bevin and Hampton, though. And not for one second do I believe he isn’t behind Hampton’s staff unceremoniously being given the boot.
Of course he is. His denial’s about as believable as his “I took my children to a chickenpox party” yarn. Utter bollocks. He expects people to believe that his deputy’s staff got summarily axed without his approval? An absurd pork pie. He should just own it.
He can’t own anything unless it’s his own good fortune. But it’s created a wonderfully weird dynamic for November — a united Democratic front against a Kentucky GOP that clearly can’t stomach the sight of each other… and’s forming a circular firing squad in response. This state normally does things the other way around, doesn’t it?
There’s plenty of time for Beshear and his team to cock it up, obviously, but it really is remarkable how little Bevin is liked within his own party. Imagine that: Being too much of a douche bag even for Kentucky Republicans. I have a more-than-sneaking suspicion that Trump can’t stand the sight of him either, otherwise he’d have been off to the White House for a cushy admin job by now. Hey, and in even better news, it looks like the Metro Council’s knuckleheaded vote on tax and revenue means we’re going to lose at least four golf courses.
I know you’re a hater, but there’s no such thing as good news when people are losing their jobs, even at something you don’t care for. I’ve played golf since my mother taught me how to swing a club when I was a kid. She’s still playing aged 76, and pretty much any hobby you can pursue at that age has to be a good thing. But even I think the game is moribund.
Look, hand-eye-coordination events that can be played just as well by out-of-shape people as they can by legitimate athletes aren’t real sports. If they were, darts and delivering the post would both be in the Olympics. So, if golf’s moribund that’s fine by me. And as a bonus, the sooner flabby, old, white men stop dressing like ‘70s pimps, the better.
Every country club and private course is desperate for members. The days of families joining country clubs and dads being able to stroll around a golf course every weekend with their mates while the wife looks after the sprogs are long gone. With our powerful NIMBY lobby, Top Golf isn’t going to save it either. Golf could well die out.
Jesus, this conversation’s becoming more boring than a game of golf. Can we move along? What an utterly predictable lather over Drag Queen Storytime. Did you take your brood?
I did not, but I’m all in favour of it. One of the things parents get worried about is talking to their children about such things. About homosexuality and stuff, even though I know it’s not the same. I was shitting myself about having to explain that to my son, but it turned out to be one of the easier things I’ve done as a parent. He asked me about two men marrying one another, and I said something like “Well, some men love each other in the same way that me and your mum love each other, so they get married.” And he was like, “OK, I understand now,” and he went back to doing whatever he was doing before.
As annoying as the little bastards are, kids are sponges. They soak stuff up without judgment. But of course the problem is that when it’s that easy to get them to understand that being accepting is OK and thereby initiate a lifetime of tolerance within 10 seconds, it’s just as easy to do the opposite and to tell them that it’s wrong. Because in 10 seconds you can just as quickly and efficiently create a young fascist committed to a lifetime of intolerance.
I remember the first time I saw a picture of a bloke in a miniskirt. It didn’t freak me out at all — it was Sir William Wallace, a fellow Scot, and he gave the English a good leathering. Jesus wore a dress most of the time too. Fashion’s like shifting sands, always changing, always gender fluid.
And Jesus wore sandals, which is infinitely worse. Although I’m not about to head out in a skirt myself, if anyone else wants to, male or female or anything in between, it makes no bones to me. But again, let’s move on. How do you reckon Trump did across the pond?
My old man seemed impressed that he managed to behave during the D-Day anniversary. He’s the 72-year-old president of the United States, not a toddler in nappies. How fucking low can the bar get? Mind you, as we’ve said often enough, England is the world’s dumbest country at the moment, and they’re in no position to be critical of inadequate leadership elsewhere.
Luckily I am in a place to be critical. I thought his behaviour was typically uncouth and unaware. He’s an embarrassment to the country who needs to end his vile, self-absorbed life serving a long sentence in a country club prison. Which would be the one-and-only time I’d happily watch the bloated wanker play golf in a bright-orange top and matching trousers.