There can only be one.
This is the bit I like. They’re all hopping up and down. Pick me, pick me! I cast a sneering, masterful look of complete and utter contempt over the whole fricking bunch of prats and pick out, agonisingly, one by one, the finalists. They all wave their little arms at me frantically to catch my attention as the available slots click down, but I’m in the zone and I’m surfing on it. Screw you Oppy, I don’t just destroy, I create.
I’m Victor von Frankenpointy, it’s alive I tell you, alive. Lightning bolts lash the Earth, burning firebrands are lit, peasants grab their pitch forks, old women know enough to reach for their rosary beads, dogs begin to dawg, hounds begin to howl and the hand of the inert corpse suddenly starts to twitch. Eyes roll, breaths are sharply intaken. Oh my God. The horror, the horror. With a mere stroke of the pen I can [CRAP: Get a grip Pointy, get a grip]
Yes, okay. Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away with the intro there. [CRAP: S’okay, get on with it]. Yassum Boss, Ize gettin’ on with it. Shaking the bush. [CRAP: and less of the sarc as well]. Sorry.
Okay, we’re down to the five finalists. I get slagged off regularly for not having graphs and stuff in my blogs, so I’m going to have some pictures in this one. It’s against my better judgement because I know that sorta stuff is the slippery slope. It’s like a gateway drug for coneheads. Before you know it, there’ll be huge diagrams and squiggly equations that nobody understands and everybody hates anyway.
In no particular order, I now give you this year’s finalists in the pratties. Some are slightly obscure prats so I feel a picture of them might help. The first one is of course El Prez himself – Burka Obama.
The trick is to pick him out but the dead give away is in the eyes. I’m sure you know which one is him.
The next one is Christine “prune-face” Milne, who’s probably not too well known on the world stage. Well, here she is.
If you don’t actually know her, here’s a hint; prune-face is the ugly one in the picture. She didn’t miss hitting a branch when she fell off the top and down through the ugly tree. Not one single frigging branch.
Next is Prof. “Ship of Fools” Turney. I had to struggle to get an image of him but after prevailing on an old academic acquaintance, he obliged me. He was very generous actually, supplying me with two photies. There are some question marks about the images supplied, especially as I know there’s not much love lost between them. However, trusting in his good intentions, I’ll give you both of them.
The second one, I’ve got some serious doubts about. I’m given to understand that it was taken at a big climate conference thrash where he got totally wasted along with all of the other prats, and all of it, as usual, on the taxpayer’s dime.
The next one is Mickey “moobs” Mann in Lew’s outpatient waiting room on one of his dress down days. It’s a slightly crowded photo so I’ve thoughtfully annotated his position in it for your benefit. He’s the only one not looking worried. That’s our boy.
The fifth and final one is John “Mr. 97%” Cook. That’s an über–prat photo, if ever there was one.
Well, that’s the five of them but by popular demand and executive order, we’ve decided to blinder prat Leonardo into the competition, just to give Team America a decent chance against the Aussies who’re all over it. [CRAP: I don’t recall this ever being discussed in committee]. You weren’t there that day. [CRAP: But it would have appeared on the minutes]. Someone left it off. [CRAP: I’m going to check up on this Pointy]. You really are starting to get on my tits. [CRAP: You’re making it up, aren’t you? Admit it]. I invented you, so I’ll be damned if I’ll be nagged by you. He’s in – no more discussion, it’s a settled science thing you wouldn’t understand. [CRAP: K]. …. and get off my blog.
Here’s the favourite. I present Leonardo DiCapricko. You keep dressing like that Boyo, another competitor might develop a romantic interest in you, and I’m not talking about prune face …
Okay boyz n gals, let the voting begin.
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