President Trump and fake news
THE other day we discussed the alarming news that President Trump had been gelded for being “vocal, unruly, unmanageable, a nightmare to work with”, also for constantly jumping on the fillies. No, this was not fake news, it was perfectly true.
But there was confusion. There are two President Trumps. One lives in Washington in the White House. The other is a racehorse who lives at Snaith’s Racing Stables in Cape Town. He was named last year when bought as a yearling. He’s the one who was gelded.
The story got about on social media and appeared in newspapers all over the world. Whether it got to The Donald (the one in Washington, that is) and irritated him is not clear. But the National Horseracing Authority now want Snaith’s Racing Stables to change the name as it has become “problematic”.
“Fair enough,” said trainer Justin Snaith. “We’ll call him Potus.”
But the National Horseracing Authority weren’t born yesterday. “Potus” is the contraction used by the American secret service for “President of the United States”.
So they’ve settled for “Fake News” – the connection with the American presidency is retained and the confusion removed. President Trump (the Washington one) still has custody of the family jewels.
Licence plates
STILL with problematic names, a Canadian called Lorne Grabher wants to take the provincial government of Nova Scotia to court.
Three generations of his family, who are of German extraction, have had the name Grabher emblazoned on their customised car licence plates. But it seems somebody has taken the word literally and complained to the licensing authorities.
Grabher got a letter from the registrar of motor vehicles, telling him there had been a complaint and the licence plate was socially unacceptable.
He protested. What right had the government of Nova Scotia to discriminate against his family name?
But Janice Harland, road safety director at the registry of motor vehicles, is adamant.
“While I recognise this plate was issued as your last name, the public cannot be expected to know this and can misinterpret it as a socially unacceptable slogan.”
It seems the Nova Scotia registry of motor vehicles has a 67-page list of personalised number plates that have been banned. It would be great to get a peek at it. “Grabundsmooch – socially unacceptable; Schmackenkiss – socially unacceptable; Von Vobbeltitz – definitely not!”
Why this absurd and unfair discrimination against German immigrants? I hope Grabher wins his case.
Busy breakfast
POLICE IN Lakeland, Florida, in the US, were called to a road intersection where a man had set up a table and chair in the middle of a busy crossroads and was having a breakfast of bacon and eggs, pancakes and syrup. He was wearing green pyjamas and fuzzy slippers, they were told.
By the time they got there, this fellow had finished his breakfast, packed up and left. But people showed them photos they’d taken and, after a bit of sleuthing, they found that he lived only 100m from the crossroads.
When they caught up with 21-year-old Kiaron Thomas, he told them he’d just been playing a joke.
But the fuzz didn’t find it all that funny and charged him with placing an obstruction in the roadway.
One senses some kind of publicity build-up here. Just wait until he opens a picnic hamper in court and pops open a bottle of Champagne.
Watch this space!
Cuisine
A NOSTALGIA trip to how we used to eat in the 1950s and 60s:
A takeaway was a mathematical problem.
A pizza was something to do with a leaning tower.
Calamari was called squid and we used it as fish bait.
Oil was for lubricating, fat was for cooking.
A Big Mac was what we wore when it was raining. Fish didn’t have fingers. Eating raw fish was called poverty, not sushi.
Cooking outside was called camping.
“Kebab” was not even a word, never mind food. Prunes were medicinal. Muesli was readily available – it was called cattle feed.
Tailpiece
PADDY phones the maternity ward. “Quick! Send an ambulance! Me wife’s havin’ a baby!”
“Tell me, is this her first baby?”
“No, dis is her husband Paddy speakin.”
Last word
I WRITE to discover what I think. After all, the bars aren’t open that early. – Daniel J Boorstin