Glob-a-log

(How many clowns does it take to bury one politician…?)

Now, I’m not really into clowns. Like a lot of people, I find them vaguely scary creatures (and, sometimes, you can skip that ‘vaguely’ bit entirely.)

This is interesting, though:

“Norman Thompson considered cheering people up his duty. As a Shriner and member of the Antioch Shrine Funster Clown Unit for 15 years, Thompson took his work seriously. The clown unit specializes in eliciting smiles from and comforting children who are burn victims or have orthopedic problems.

Thompson, 79, died Monday, May 25. He was buried Friday, May 29, with the highest honor a clown can receive: he was “carried to his resting spot by his fellow clowns,” said Mick (Willie the Clown) Lile, the Funsters’ director known informally as the boss clown. Eight of Thompson’s fellow clowns in their full costumes acted as pallbearers.”

Still, enough with those clowns.

Let’s talk about some other clowns instead. Politicians, yes, indeed.

Politicians and funerals, to be precise.

Now, it’s not actually possible to wish a politician dead. I tried. Close your eyes, think of, let’s say, Tony Blair, concentrate and count to ten, or ten thousand, or a hundred thousand but, each time you open your eyes again, the little bugger is still breathing and prancing about.

Still, we could pretend and play funeral. Pick a candidate – and God knows there are enough to go around – and think of ways they would meet their end, and then arrange the funeral. Including guests, songs, speeches and whatever else you think may make this the happiest occasion imaginable.

So, I would have Silvio Berlusconi joining the Heavenly choir, after choking to a slow & painful death on the tampon of a 17 years’ old lingerie model, who is too busy laughing at the size of his willie and the sight of his toupet to notice, while the president’s breaking eyes see his football club AC Milan being beaten by arch rivals Inter Milan on the wall to wall TV screen.

I’m sure that Gordon Brown, being a proud Scot, wouldn’t mind being tied to a big fat clunk of Northern Rock and accompanying said Rock on its whirling way down into the sewer system. I’m sure he would very much mind the demonic laughter of Tony Blair, whose evil spirit was watching gleefully from the sideline, while the current PM sank deeper and deeper into the reeking mess he’d helped to create while he was responsible for Britain’s finances - but then I think old Gordon would be too busy swallowing shit and drowning and beating off the angry ghosts of broken promises past, to pay much attention to the sadistic whoops & hollers of his former boss.

Yes, and I can see Iran’s president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad presiding over yet another conference of Holocaust deniers. He’s happily talking about the evils of Zionism, the machinations of the Great Satan and the threat of Barbie, aka The Whore of Babylon und so weiter, und so weiter… until a group of militant gay freedom fighters bursts into the conference hall, storms the speaker’s podium and starts to beat the president to death with fluorescent dildos. Of course, Ahmadinejad’s bodyguards beg their horrifically dying boss to allow them to intervene but Iran’s president (in between screaming and moaning a lot) shouts, “NO…!!! THERE ARE NO HOMOSEXUALS IN IRAN…!!!!!!”

Right, I’m off to make a new pot of tea. In the meantime, why don’t you come up with some more deserving deaths & fun funerals for a few politicians (or sports stars, celebs et cetera.)

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This entry was posted on Saturday, May 30th, 2009 at 15:39 and is filed under Columns, Politics, Satire. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.