ANOTHER TRINIDADIAN YEAR drifts to its end, with the ship of state as likely to end up on the rocks as in the harbor, and that outcome a matter entirely of chance because the crew, before and behind the mast, cares more about raiding the cargo than docking the boat; and, if they calculate on the bridge that there will be more bounty to plunder via salvage than safety, all-man-Jack will pop the cork on the Cristal and cheerfully scupper the firetrucker. “Captain, the ship is sinking/ Captain, the seas are rough/ Sailor, hush, I drinking/ And the curry-duck is warm enough”.

You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows and you don’t need an international body to know your country is collapsing: our judiciary is falling apart openly (and behind closed doors); it’s easier (and cheaper) to buy cocaine outside of a Port of Spain bank than US dollars inside; children’s hospitals lie empty in Trinidad and cultural complexes in Tobago will never be filled by “conferencing” foreigners when locals are fighting over every seat on every rare plane; without a ferry bringing Trini-groceries, Tobagonians starve because they don’t plant pigeon peas anymore, but import lentils from Canada; and, in either T or T, any citizen, regardless of rank, can be murdered anytime, anywhere (especially Morvant-Laventille and Bacolet Gardens) and nothing at all will be done about it in 93 per cent of cases, because, in this pappy-show land, where nearly everything is a pappy-show, the police service is the biggest “make work” scheme…

Bestly idea I ever had – all my ideas are the best ones, no one has more bestly ideas, they’re all in my head under my real hair, all me, all the time, the bestly ideas, I’m the POTUS with the MOSTUS, not Obama! Me! Right on top of the pile of all my sheer genius ideas like Trump Steaks and Trump University and posing with Ivanka on my knee was my idea to bring back “Merry Christmas”. Everyone’s happier in real America today! All the REAL Americans, that is. “Happy Holidays, my ass!” As if that Niger-American Kwan-Jungle-Bunny-Za

Not having a greatly time in Mar-A-Lago, either. Thought I’d feel wonderfully, like running through the wheat fields like that Theresa May guy pretending to be the British prime minister, idiot, voted against me recognizing Jerusalem as the Israeli capital, except I’d prefer to run through – or, actually, walk slowly through – the dressing-rooms of Miss Universe, grabbing a little pussy here and there. Not Miss Nigeria. Or Miss Zim-babble-whey. None

So a greatly week all round, bestiest week I’ve had since November 2016 and I’m finally in Mar-A-Lago, bestly place in America and the ninth, tenth and 11^th Wonder of the World, bestly place I own and I own more than anybody else, and finally I am somewhere where everybody appreciates me because I pay them to. But why do you still feel so downly, Donald? Is it because

Bigliest week ever in the history of the American presidential thing, yugest achievements of any yuman being in history. Fake News still going on about bow-ring Russian thing. My Tax Cuts for My Friends Bill has revolutionary the whole financial thing and will Make America Beg Again. No middle class or working class person will ever pay tax again in his life! Oh, wait: I meant: no millionaires will ever pay any more tax than middle or working class people. Facebook and the Mickey D’s fry-guy will now pay the same tax rate. And