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YOU FLING YOUR SOUL as you throw the dice on a last-ditch bet, chancing the children’s school fees against the mortgage payment and the Christmas presents, and you hold your breath, waiting for those little cuboid firetruckers to bounce off the wall; two or three seconds as long as forever when everything is riding on them; you don’t have to go to Vegas to know an everything-or-nothing risk is never a thrill for anyone but Maverick.
You brace yourself for sevens or craps and you remind yourself, perforce, of how little you need, in truth; but you will always forget, except at these heavy little moments, when you watch those dice like a month in jail, and you’re praying for everything… but your gut has already told you you’re going to come up with nothing.
Expecting either redemption or condemnation of the human spirit in the American mid-term elections next Tuesday, today’s column is in the form of a longer-than-usual entry in my spoof Secret Diary of Donald J Trump, aged 75 and 3/4. I hope you enjoy it; just don’t ask me how Fat Nixon heard about Trinidadian rock ‘n’ roll band jointpop’s Popography gig at Kaiso Blues tomorrow night. The entries in my spoof diary have headlines of their own, as in:
Northward, Hos! Come Out of Mexico and I’ll Kick Your Greasy Butts All the Way to Canada!
I’m not the praying kind – more like the PREYING kind, LOL, PREY not PRAY, geddit, Dairy? God, I’m so smartly – but I’ll only PREY on nines or tens BUT NOT STORMY THE LIAR who work UNDER me and understand I AM THE RIDER in their contract – because, like, who would I PRAY to? Even if there was somebody more biglier than me SORRY, BUT NOT EVEN YOU, VLADDIE DEEREST – you only have to compare the hottie Ivanka and that other daughter or look at poor Eric to know for absolutely positivity that there could not be a God. Imagine having a handsome studly like me for a dad, many people are saying I’m the bestliest-looking man, not just in America AMERICA FIRST AMERICA FIRST AMERICA FIRST and the world but in all history, and who can deny a fact NOW THAT IS REAL NEWS but imagine having a tremendous terrific man like ME for a father… and looking like their mothers!!!! Why do you think I didn’t name Eric after me, Deer Dairy? Firstborn son, yes, but ugly-born, too, poor little guy. Didn’t even let him be on The Apprentice for, like, lots of seasons. You have to think of your ratings first AMERICA FIRST MAKE AMERICA WHITE AGAIN.Read more
Picture courtesy Abigail Hadeed
One good thing about music, Shadow, when it hit, you feel no pain/ Music better than any drugs, to keep young people sane/ But Trini music, in my teens, went only to the vein/ Made feet and hips start dancing wild but stopped before the brain
Sparrow & his sa-sa-yea and Kitch’s tourist dame/ Jimi Hendrix’ one guitar put them both to shame/ Dance music, to me, who couldn’t dance, just sounded lame/ And if Bob Dylan did kaiso better, Breds, it wasn’t me to blameRead more