Gordon Robinson | The cheese stands alone
There's no getting away from it. Jamaican women are obsessed with Donald Trump.
No hour passes without my Twitter feed carrying an expression, usually from someone of the female persuasion, of open disgust at his latest idiocy. I'd be careful if I were them, because they qualify to be future US immigrants, a category of human Trump contrarily seems to want to eliminate. His devotion to the cause of deporting immigrants continues despite it being argued forcefully that immigrants do jobs that no self-respecting American would do. This is an unassailable argument, especially when tested by the fact that two-thirds of Donald Trump's wives are immigrants.
Trump's foreign policy is officially a three-ring circus. First, he bans refugees from Syria. Then, having sent them back to face chemical weapons warfare, he goes ballistic and bombs Syria. Oonu nuh tell him 'bout Tivoli 2010? Wait a minute, it a'right, we safe. We don't have oil (yet).
Syria's misfortune is to be the only significant crude oil-producing country in the eastern Mediterranean, which includes Jordan, Lebanon, Israel and the Palestinian territories. In language only bridge players will understand, One Don, exclaiming "there's only ONE captain of a ship" trump Bannon, trump Priebus and become the cheese.
Even across the galaxies, in Apocrypha, women unanimously voted Trump the grossest man in the universe. Ever since Trump was taped talking about grabbing baby cats, the women could talk about nothing and nobody else. Finance Minister R.U. Shaw was very perturbed.
All over Apocrypha, women were neglecting their jobs while gossiping, tweeting or just quietly fuming about Trump. This soon affected Apocrypha's GDP. Eventually, R.U. could take no more and consulted his friend and political opponent Oma D'unn. You all remember Oma, the former finance minister now retired from politics? Like a moon, Oma was bright only in the dark, but had a way of solving political problems with parables.
R.U. said to Oma: "What can government do? These women are determined to harass Trump to death!"
Oma chuckled: 'Therein lies the solution to your problem. Buy the man a first-class ticket to Israel."
"WHAT?" R.U. was confused. So Oma told the story of Trump's future trip to Israel.
"Donald Trump goes on a fact-finding visit to Israel.
While touring Jerusalem on a particularly hot day, he suffers a heart attack and dies. An Israeli undertaker gives the American diplomats accompanying him a choice: 'He can be shipped home for $50,000, or buried here, in the Holy Land, for just $100.'
The diplomats don't hesitate for a moment. They glance at each other and immediately tell the undertaker they want Trump shipped home.
The undertaker is puzzled and asks, 'Why'd you spend $50,000 to ship him home, when it'd be wonderful to be buried here and you'd spend only $100?'
The diplomats reply, 'Long ago, a man died here, was buried here, and three days later he rose from the dead. We just can't take the risk.'"
Oma explained carefully that the only way Apocryphan women would stop talking about Trump was if the distraction disappeared. Send him to Israel. If the heat didn't do him in, any number of angry wannabe refugees would happily help R.U.
"But," stammered R.U., "the man is no eeediat! Surely, he must know dey hate him all over the Middle East. Him nah go dey."
So, Oma sighed and told him the dead donkey story.
"Father O'Malley awoke one fine spring morning in his new Washington, DC, parish. He walked to his bedroom window for a deep breath of the beautiful day outside. He then noticed ... a donkey lying dead in the middle of his front lawn.
He promptly called the White House. Tapes later revealed:
'Good morning. This is Donald Trump, How might I help you?'
'And the best of the day te yerself. This is Father O'Malley at St Ann's Catholic Church. There's a donkey lying dead in me front lawn. Would ye be so kind as to send a couple o' yer lads to handle the matter?'
Trump, considering himself to be a wit (he's half-right) and recognising the Irish accent, thought he'd have some fun with the good Father. He replied,
"Well now, Father, it was always my impression you people handled last rites!"
For a moment, the line went deathly quiet ... .
Father O'Malley then replied:
"Aye,' tis certainly true; but we're also obliged to notify the next of kin first, which is the reason for me call."
Peace and love.
- Gordon Robinson is an attorney-at-law. Email feedback to firstname.lastname@example.org.