Statesman meet and air the salt laundry and their dysfunctional,
toxic open special relationship to the world in efforts to
negotiate trade policy and white papers more existentially
tedious than Jacob Rees Mogg reading aloud his historical
erotica. Quivering at Ashenkol, Prime
Minister Keir Starmer took to the skies, followed by his
lovely dog, and landed at Mara Largo directly into a Diet Coke
filled Jacuzzi whereon President Donald the Trump schmoozed him
with tutti frutti Uzi of those Bushes.
This the first time in these two men of destiny have 4 gathered a
Dutch tourist attending remark that it was Earl Grey meets
Oranjibu. The PM blithely chided Trump for
playing international silly buggers, to which the poet has
ejaculated that Starmer had the passage of an amiable cofiered
frog. They got a milkshake and Timbers
cooled. Discussions on the transatlantic
axis between hair Trump and Dershtama took place on a
whistle stop tour of all American antics.
First they adjourned to hot dog eating contest in Washington,
which the former lawyer won by prosecuting his advantage as a
bang as a mash addict. Trump called him a wolf in pigs
blankets. The grayly faced assassin
retorted that the commander in chief 300% tariffs on the Easter
Islands on importing their statues.
Much of the notion of saving Yankee bacon Stony faced The
tycoon oinked rashly and chomped on his diplomatic gift of a
child war. Burton's carpet humor's
crackling The intensely dissimilar baby kisses took off
to a Las Vegas stock show, which the gilded defecator had his
security sweep vainly for any sign of hungry, hungry Haitians.
Trump's temper sired further when PM's best friend won best
in show Starmer quipping that if the president had spent so much
time training his Bloodhound to sniff out Muslims, it would have
fared better in the agility costs.
Trump's security detail tranquilize all participants
with darts he had it in, stated that his pooch took the prize
and declared that despite anti immigrant rhetoric, he can't be
a racist as Drake is his number one sauna buddy.
At a Texan golf course, Stammer protested at being given a
cricket bat to wield, which the leader of the free world
ignored, completing the field with A50 handicap as Elon Musk
and his silica Stafford delivered Roman salutes at the
clubhouse, the PM held aloft the Sabre of Willow, declaring that
Uncle Sam playing favorites with its nieces and nephews just
wasn't cricket. Trump bailed A Yorker claiming
the game only played by terrorist countries, which
Stammer reverse swept by being the president's favoring of
Putin in the Ukraine conflict. Don Chadman gave short shrift to
that tracksuit wearing bomb Zelensky, to which missus
straight bat defended. I like track suits stops,
tension peaking deadlines and conniptions approaching.
Vin Diesel stepped into umpire. These figures of fate embarked
onto Trump's private monster truck Biden Slayer, and
negotiations began. What was decided upon in their
three hour conversation can only be a matter for conjecture,
which we at Pathetic News are pathologically allergic to.
Here, the speculations of 1. Mr. Alex Jones of 6 6 rabbit
hole giant before talks relight on trade deals The peaked Trump
threatened to shoot Starmer and nuke Lester unless he performed
A humiliation ritual. The toolmaker's son sang Happy
birthday Mr. President dressed as Marilyn Monroe over a
Manhattan subway grating. The chief UK to US exports to be
tariffed are construction materials and cheddar cheese.
Starmer found a workaround by offering construction materials
made of cheddar. Trump stated that if the
buildings were to suffer acts of arson, the survivors get to eat
grilled fromage amongst the debris to cheese their sorrels.
The Labour man accepted increased prices for the main US
to UK exports, Coca-Cola and pronouns.
He also offered the Republican an invitation to King Charles's
garden party. We have one, drinks a Jelly foam
of a Jenna crow and bids on a child flight auction in aid of
Greenpeace. We can't possibly know the full
facts of the powwow, but Stammer left the vehicle with a lip in
only MAGA underpants, feverishly clutching a Twiggy Bar
statecraft, his soap opera writ large.
The difference being that the narcissistic cretins playing the
characters actually affect us, the watching world.
From the public path to criminalizing pasties.
After another milkshake, Sama is on his way home, a wiser if not
happier man. There we can take comfort in
averting atomization of his country.
It's worth the sacrifice of 1's own dignity.
Buttocks unclench as the sovereignty of two great nations
is Cordelia for cul. Little Jenny from Twickenham
sleeps soundly, oblivious to the geopolitical degradation the
Premier undertook for the continued supply of Jelly beans.
Trump, eating a burger in space, looks down on Albion and sings
softly. You and me could write a bad
romance, Gaga. Oh La La pathetic news verum
medachum.