A Croatian mayoral candidate has won a landslide victory by being honest with the voters.
“I will honestly fleece you like sheep!” he declared in a landmark campaign speech. “By God, I’ll raid the public purse like a highwayman and live off the fat of the land!”
The voters loved him for it. For once, a politician was being truthful about his intentions. As most of the electorate would do the same in his position, they immediately recognised him as a man of the people. Who really wants to be governed by a pious goody-goody who doesn’t know how to pamper himself at someone else’s expense? Those of a generous nature derive pleasure from seeing others enjoy the high life.
This story is particularly apposite in the light of news from England, where members of parliament are being tarred and feathered for making frivolous expense claims. British MPs have shamelessly reimbursed themselves for hairdryers, toothbrushes, dildos and countless other trinkets. There is only one word for such behaviour: cheap. I’m not sure what the price of a dildo is, but I should imagine it’s less than the cost of the paperwork to claim it back. The voters are naturally furious that so many of their elected officials are penny-pinching parvenus who won’t even pay for their own sex aids.
With any luck, the next British parliament will be packed with rich celebrities who can afford their own dildos. Richard Branson has a collection big enough for the entire House of Commons. Esther Rantzen, Delia Smith and Lulu have their own custom-made devices. Tom Jones is essentially a walking dildo. Not having to worry about such trifling expenses, they will devote their energies to the service of their constituents, many of whom would love to be probed by a famous dildo. The only way of restoring faith in the system is for politicians to get closer to the people they represent.
Dr Whipsnade tells me that times are tough in England. Not for the good doctor, of course, who is a multimillionaire. Yet being a man of conscience, he is not blind to the deprivation around him. His many acts of philanthropy include tipping waiters generously and feeding the fallen women of the Kings Cross area. The latter is accomplished by instructing his chauffeur to distribute tins of corned beef to the prostitutes while he waits in the car.
“Hallo Beefy, got some more beef for us!” they cry at the scowling underling as he carries the box of victuals towards them.
But don’t feel sorry for the chauffeur: that impudent rascal deserves all the lip he gets.
Things are no better in the provincial settlements outside London. A village in Cornwall cannot find a single nubile woman to be its carnival queen. The reason is that economic hardship has forced these young ladies to sell their bodies, hence they are too ashamed to parade before a crowd including their clients, who might grin, wink and point indecently. In their desperation, the village has decided to advertise the position to transvestites. Although many of these men are also prostitutes, the boot would be on the other foot, as it is they who would grin, wink and point at their shamefaced punters. I must send one of my evil henchmen to witness the event and take pictures.
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