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Trump And France Walk Into A Bar

flag-of-france

~ Monsieur le Président. What can I get you?

~ I’m guessing it will be wine?

~ It does not need to be.

~ Isn’t that what’s supposed to be civilised?
~ les Français have a much wider civilisation than that.

~ I have a fondness – or is it a weakness – for Charteuse.
~ That is fine, mais …

~ I like the green colour in the glass.
~ Indeed, it is beautiful.
~ Have you another suggestion?

~ Absinthe
~ Uh-oh. That sounds like a baddie, believe me.
~ It has a certain heft.
~ You know I don’t drink?
~  Mais, oui.
~ Then what is the purpose?
~ It is poor diplomacy to drink alone.
~Then have at it.
~ Monsieur Trump, the whole country – all of Europe – would like to thank you.
~ Am I going to get a wedgie here?
~ Not at all – you have saved us.
~ It’s starting to feel really really tight in my butt cheeks.
~ The citizens français have seen what you accomplish.
~ It’s getting hard to sit down.
~ And have voted against something similar happening here.
~ Are you trying to get me to drink this thing?
~ Mais, non. You just keep being who you are.

DE

When The Government Changes from “Kafka In The Castle”

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Excerpt from Kafka In The Castle

I agreed only to answer questions – that way I could not be accused of fermenting treason.

15 January 1918

This war. They wanted my opinions about this endless war. These earnest, honest men, awaiting the words from the Herr Doktor of Prague.

I agreed only to answer questions – that way I could not be accused of fermenting treason. Even in these troubled times, the law allows a man to answer questions. Assuming that the law prevails.

The law was present in the form of the policeman, attending this questionable gathering while still in uniform. He doffed his hat as he shook my hand. I would rather have him in our midst, than lurking in the hall. We have nothing to fear from him.

“Will the empire last?” This was first from their lips. And they must have needed to hear the words, for even the Emperor must know that all is lost. The Old Order, having fallen into the hands of dull and witless men, must succumb. The complacency of the age must be purged – but that has not yet happened. That awaits the next generation – and the destruction will be furious. But I do not tell them this.

I am skillful in what I do not tell them, for the truth is beyond their power to persuade or control. (Their next questions would have been more difficult had I not curbed the truth further still.) “What will happen to Zurau? What will happen to us?” And they have every right to worry. To suspect. When a society crumbles, it is those at the bottom who get crushed. But I told them that Amerika seemed a just power – not bent on retribution.

I did not tell them that a victor can do as he wants.

And I told them that we live in a secondary part of a secondary empire – the powers of destruction will be concentrated on Vienna and Berlin. I did not tell them that during the death of a snake, the spasms of the tail can be lethal.

And I told them something which could really be of help. I told them, in this coming year, to grow more food: fatten more beasts: prepare, preserve and put away. Fill their cellars and barns to bursting with food and fuel. Buy some things now, which they can use for barter later if the currency becomes worthless. Look after their families and lands.

Look after each other.

DE

Trump And Kafka Walk Into A Bar

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~ Frank. Welcome to your world.

~ Thanks, DT. I’ve been living it all my life.

~ I’ve taken some pages out of your books, Frank.

~ I did try to get them burned.

~ You didn’t try too hard.

~ Well – no.

~ You know – neither did I.

~ I know. They all ran to your tune.

~ They did.

~ You were the Pied Piper of Havoc.

~  Worked like a charm, Frank.

~ Yes, DT – yes, it did.

~ They thought I was a bug.

~ Yes.

~ But I turned them into bugs.

~That you did, DT. And turned them against each other.

~ Yes.

~ And stood back, and watched.

~ Pretty well.

~ To the victor goes the spoils.

~ I was astounded – believe me.

~ And they keep making the same mistakes.

~ I know, Frank.  I’d laugh if it wasn’t so funny.

~ The one-eyed man is King in the land of the Blind.

~ Yes, Frank – yes. But you know what?

~  What?

~ I’ve got great vision in both eyes.

DE

(image)http://www.lavoroculturale.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/tumblr_l0bis3rtmb1qz6f9yo1_500.jpg

Obama And Joe Walk Into A Bar To Ponder

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~ What’s your poison, Joe?

~ A Moscow Mule.

~ Since when are you a vodka man?

~ Just trying to fit in with the 46th.

~ Joe!

~ Make him feel at home.

~ That is so not-politically correct in so many ways.

~ Neither is he.

~ Point taken, Joe.

~ Did you just say Putin, Boss?

~ Joe!

~ So, I’ve gone around the mansion.

~ Joe.

~ And I’ve put red stickers on the art work.

~ What?

~ Like they’re sold.

~ Are you messing with him again?

~ Yeh.

~ Joe.

~ But I’m being subliminal as hell.

~ What do you mean?

~ The stickers are really little red squares.

~ What the –

~ He’s going to be on the hot line faster than a goose to the bathroom.

~ Joe.

~ That’s politically correct, isn’t it?

~ Are you shittin’ me, Joe?

~ Boss!

DE

(image)http://i0.wp.com/b-live.in/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/bar-e1455884974812.jpg?resize=350%2C200

Joebama Walk Into A Bar

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~ What’s your poison, Joe?

~ I think it’s a rum night.

~ Any reason?

~ It’ll encourage me to give him a rum for his money.

~ Joe. You know you’ve got to stop.

~ Yeh, Boss. In January.

~ Messing with his head isn’t going to do any good.

~ It can’t do any harm.

~ True – we’re past that.

~ Gotta have a bit of fun.

~ Hillary could use a bit of fun.

~ I’m not a magician, Boss.

~ True.

~ Though I have a few riffs on The Glass Ceiling surviving Kristallnacht.

~ Joe!

~ Too soon?

~ Not even this time next year.

~ OK.

~ I’ll pretend it’s the rum talking, Joe.

~ OK. I’ll stick to dealing with the 45th.

~ My successor.

~ The old Pussy-Grabber-in-Chief.

~ Joe.

~ I’ve put a few “For a good time, call – ” notes in the washrooms.

~ Joe.

~ I left Melina’s phone number.

~ Joe!

~ Gotta have fun, Barack. There’s only so much rum.

~ True.

~ And I haven’t even started on Pence.

~ Joe!

DE

(image)http://www.stpancraslondon.com/media/1640/gilbert-scott-bar.jpg?anchor=center&mode=crop&quality=90&width=1120&format=jpg&slimmage=true&rnd=131129703970000000&height=549

~

The Government And The Social Contract ~ An Election Can’t Change It

Deepening Unemployment Hits Construction Industry Hard

Franz Kafka was a government employee who looked after the welfare of workers. Among other things, he invented the hard hat.

In my novel about him, he has an encounter with a worker who needs assistance. In his real life, this is how he would react.

Excerpt from Kafka In The Castle:

16 February 1917

There was a commotion at the office today. It was late morning, and from far below, coming up the stairwell, I could hear a voice bellowing: “Doktor Kafka. Doktor Kafka.”

It was a terrible voice, full of blood and darkness. I got from my desk and went to the door. There were other voices, trying to calm, saying: “He can’t be disturbed.” But the voice was louder, more horrible, close in the corridor.  “Doktor Kafka – for the love of God.”

My secretary wanted me to stay inside, hoped the man would just move along the corridor until the police were summoned. But – I was curious; the man had my name, and his voice was … terrified.

I opened the door and stood in front of it.  “I’m Kafka,” I said. The man lunged at me, and went to his knees.  “Doktor Kafka?” he said.  “Yes, I’m Kafka.” He reached out, grabbing for my hand.  “Jesus, Jesus, for the love of Jesus – they say that you’ll help me.”

He was a heavy man, and looked as if he had the strength to pull off doors, yet the tears burst from his eyes.  “I can get no work. I fell from a bridge, and my back is twisted and in pain.” He slumped against the wall, looking at my eyes.  “I have a family, Doktor Kafka. A baby not a year old.”  “You were working on this bridge?” I asked.  “Yes.” His voice slid down his throat. “I was helping repair the surface.”  “Then you deserve your insurance. Why can’t you get it?”

He straightened up, and tried to stand. “I have to fill in papers; the doctor can see no wounds; the foreman said I drank; because my brother is a thief, I am not to be trusted.” I held out my hand, and he slowly stood. “I’m telling you the truth, Doktor Kafka.”  “If that is so,” I said, “you’ll get the money due you.”  “I’m so tired,” he said.

I gave instructions to those standing around – no other work was to be done until this man’s case was decided.

I took him to my office, where he sat.

He sat – practically without a word – for five hours.

I summoned a prominent doctor to look at him. The doctor prodded, and the man screamed. Officials from his village were telephoned. I helped him with the details on the forms. His truth was in his pain. He left our stony building with money in his hand, and his worth restored.

The people who assisted me had smiles on their faces.

A man had needed their help.

DE

(image)http://mentalfloss.com/sites/default/legacy/blogs/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/86185783.jpg

Trump And Bill Clinton Walk Into A Bar

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~ What’s to be your poison, Donald?

~Something to help  with the pussy, Bill. You tell me.

~Well, you’re going to start having trouble there. The ladies aren’t liking you much.

~ They got you into a lot of trouble, too.

~ Yes, that they did.

~ Impeached your ass.

~Gotta admit that, Donald – yes. Though I was declared innocent.

~ Innocent as shit.

~ Eye of the beholder, Donald. Something you don’t understand.

~ What do you mean?

~ You’re a mess, my friend. You are one hoot-and-holler train wreck.

~ I’m clearing the track, Slick Willy – straight to the White House. Believe me.

~ No – that isn’t the station where you’re getting off.

~ You think Hillz is going to stop me?

~ And that’s one more of the many things you don’t understand.

~ Wrong.

~ Hillary – bless her – might be pointing the gun.

~ Wrong

~ But guess who’s pulling the trigger.

~ I’ve got the best security.

~ It’s the people, Donald.

~ I’ve even got the Secret Service.

~ You can’t fool all the people.

~ Wrong.

~ Even the ones who follow you don’t believe you.

~ Wrong.

~They might not trust my little filly.

~ Should be in prison.

~But there is one thing the people don’t fear about her.

~ What?

~ They don’t think she’s going to lead them over the cliff.

DE

(image)https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1p10pLVXXXXXVXVXXq6xXFXXXp/i033-OPEN-Sexy-Sex-font-b-Girls-b-font-Pub-font-b-Bar-b-font-Club.jpg

 

Obama And Trump Walk Into A Bar – Election Closes In

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~ What’s your poison, Donald?

~ The USA is poison – believe me.

~ Not to worry. I’m lancing that for you.

~ You use a sword and you stab in the back.

~ Sword of Justice.

~ And you like to twist it.

~  Look at the Statue of Justice.

~ Isn’t she blindfolded?

~ Yeh – so keep your hands to yourself.

~ A man gets certain thoughts, sometimes.

~ A man keeps them as thoughts, Donald.

~ We gotta put our hands somewhere.

~ Try your pockets.

~ Oh – that shit’s for other people. I get what I want.

~ Not this time.

~ You don’t think I’ll be the 45th president?

~ That slot is reserved for a woman.

~  Ugh – such a nasty woman.

~  Hillary cleaned your clock, Donald.

~ You think so?

~ Wiped the numbers right off your face.

~ When this is over, do you think you could hook us up?

~ With Hillary?

~ Yes.

~ You’ll have to ask Bill.

~ Oh, he won’t mind.

DE

(image)http://news.psu.edu/sites/default/files/styles/threshold-992/public/bar%20fight%20morguefile%20mcandea_0.jpg?itok=AC_X8Igi

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