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TGIF columns are in order by date from the most recent.

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(Con) Men of Letters

ANYTIME Trinidad threatens to out-Trinidad itself – like when the PNM spends its first year in government proving that it doesn’t grasp the concept and Tobago promptly resoundingly votes them back in – I cheer myself up by diving into my “mails-bag” for letters to the editor which never got printed in the newspapers.

A rudimentary recollection of the law of copyright forces me to confess I stole this idea from the National Lampoon, the American satirical magazine that, though very funny, had no choice but to fold, because satire has no place in a modern American reality that actually elected a joke for a president. (How the firetruck does anyone satirize that?) As always, I certify these letters are 100 per cent authentic because I made them up myself. It being “the season”, there are several Carnival-related ones; and the Donald certainly qualifies as “ole mas”.

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King of Trumps

For the Rip Van Winkles who fell asleep in 2017, it was 20 years ago, today, that the 45th American president was inaugurated. The 88-year-old future BC Pires reflects, on 20 January 2037, on how the USA was changed

THE LAST GREAT President’s inauguration on 20 January 2017 was overshadowed by nothing, not even the early morning bombings of abortion clinics all over the USA by the newly-formed fighting wing of the Promise Keepers, the Covenant Enforcers. The liberal communist socialist BBC, CNN and other leftwing media/guerrilla groups thrust microphones at the Last Great President

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Firetruck It Man

And I think it’s going to be a long-long time/ ‘Til touchdown brings me round again to find/ I’m not the man they think I am at home/ Oh no, no, no, I’m a rocket man/ Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone – Elton John, from the song, “Rocket Man”

NOT EVEN TWO proper weeks in and already this year is sizing up to be a long-long one. Still fully seven days clear until the installation of President Jackass, and the longest four years in history actually begins counting down and, as if Time itself fears that unholy inauguration, the hours preceding it drag by and the minutes grind down into individual seconds that creep like moss; torture and time at the dentist’s pass this way.

On the up side, though, at least it will seem we’re living that much longer.

But then, why would we want to?



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