Tony “Bono” Blair is a bit confused. He believes he is the famed British Prime Minister of the same name, deposed after winning a third term. Things begin to look up for Tony when a letter arrives offering a position with McCreedie construction. Thinking he is taking over as CEO of a powerful NASDAQ company, Tony accepts the offer and travels to Scotland, hoping to meet the people, regain their trust, and use his new career as a springboard back into high office. The new career isn’t all Tony had hoped, and he finds himself building a cement runway at Ardrossan International Airport.
… Tony’s been ordered to dispose of the mountain of concrete that Jim Baird removed for him … that means a trip to the dump … Paterson is ever watchful … Tony’s obsession with deadly chemicals resurfaces … are these the WMDs he longed to find in Iraq? …
The name Baird had a kind of rugged ring about it, like my own rugger-tug name.
The dump was at the farthest edge of the airport. I could feel broken breezeblocks through the thin soles of my trendy but impractical golden Nikes. Wind-shattered plastic crackled on a fence, and seagulls stretched and flew. Something toxic laced with resin fumes made my nose itch, and there was an electrical hum as though a million flies were gathering forces nearby.
I wheeled the barrow across the dump. Paterson followed. It really wasn’t the place I would have chosen, but it so had to be done. I had to walk where Lib Dem party workers feared to tread.
Wooden pallets, giant spools, nests of wire, old tyres, the metal teeth of a broken caterpillar track, blocked my path. I tipped the concrete mountain off the barrow.
I saw the poison containers, the drums of toxic liquid, stacked like cans of deadly fizzy drink, and then it all made sense to a clever clogs like me. Paterson, like Saddam, was a naughty liar. The chemicals hadn’t been destroyed at all, and I told him. I told him he was a very naughty liar, and I was going to make him eat humble pie because those were drums of nasty chemical. He said something very rude indeed.
Tony Blair: The Wilderness Years, the novel, ISBN 1-4196-0573-9
This Blog Is
Dedicated To Me, Tony ‘Bono’ Blair.
Without Me, None Of This Could Have Been Possible.
Check out Ian Duncan Smith’s satirical blog Hold It Up For Ridicule.
Check out his Lulu Storefront, and his sensible blog.
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